THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


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Copyright,  1892,  by  MARY  LAMBERT 


SAN   FRANCISCO  : 

PRINTED  BY  THE  BANCROFT  COMPANY 
1892 


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entente 


California '   7 

Oakland 9 

Sonnet  to  an  Oak 10 

For  Somebody's  Sake 10 

A  Rose 11 

Trust 12 

Dreams 13 

Noon 15 

Hymn  to  the  Sacred  Heart 15 

The  Angel's  Tidings .  16 

To  an  Apple 18 

The  Heart 18 

The  Wedding  Ring 19 

A  Song 20 

Thy  Grave 21 

The  Berkeley  Hills 22 

Thy  Caressing  Hands 23 

A  Rich  Man's  Reverie 24 

Autumn 25 

You 26 

My  Soul  and  1 27 

The  Stream  of  Life 29 

Legend  of  the  Jessamine 30 

Give  Thy  Love  Now 32 

Little  Things 33 

Weighing  the  Baby 34 

The  Old,  Old  Story 35 

What  Shall  I  Sing? 36 

Twilight  37 

The  Passion  Flower 38 

To  Letitia 39 

Night : , 40 

St.  Mary's 41 

The  Proposal 42 


PAGK 

The  Blue  and  Gray 44 

Adieu 46 

To  Florence 47 

The  Dunce 48 

I/ouise 51 

Do  Not  Fret 52 

Pretty  Nell 53 

The  Accounting 54 

Love 56 

The  Fortune 56 

Memories 58 

Hymn  to  St.  Joseph 59 

Failure. 61 

Faith  Is  Best 61 

My  Love  and  1 62 

A  Bell 64 

Legend  of  the  Moss  Rose 64 

A  Rainy  Day 65 

Divorced v 66 

No!  Ask  Me  Not!.... 67 

Fire-Light  Fancies  68 

Fate 69 

Only  a  Word 70 

The  Christening  of  the  Marechal  Niel  Rose 71 

Longfellow 72 

Not  For  Ourselves  Alone 73 

A  Footstep 74 

Baby  Is  Drifting  Away 74 

Beside  The  Sea 76 

The  Twins , 77 

Christmas  Tide 78 

Three  Letters 79 

Easter 81 

A  Tableau 82 

Thanksgiving  Day 83 

Legend  of  the  Vine 83 

Child  Life 85 

Woman 86 

Duty 86 

To  Thyself  Be  True . 87 

My  Album 88 


The  Shadow  on  the  Curtain 90 

An  Old  Man's  Dream 91 

She  and  1 92 

Gold 94 

To-Day 94 

A  Berkeley  Cottage 95 

Under  the  Mulberry  Tree 96 

The  Devil's  Bride 97 

Tears  99 

Work 99 

Dead 100 

Wine 101 

Hope 103 

Beautiful  Hands 103 

My  Neighbor 104 

A  Letter 105 

Blighted  106 

The  Mission  of  the  Holy  Cross 107 

The  Hammer 109 

Aftermath 110 

Even-tide Ill 

Sonnet 112 

The  Suicide 113 

A  Dream 115 

Post  Mortem 116 

Nature's  Song 117 

Minstrel  Waifs 118 

Old  Time 119 

Truth 120 

Fraternity 121 

Safe 122 

The  Bachelor's  Song    123 

The  Lover's  Response  to  the  Bachelor 123 

My  Love 124 

Growing  Old 125 

Mater  Dolorosa 126 

My  Land 127 

The  Irish  Fairies 128 

Fairy  Castles 129 

Fairy  Palaces  131 

TheLeprehaun 132 


PAGE 

The  Fairies'  Dance '34 

Amelia  Ophelia  Jones 186 

Longing 138 

Legend  of  the  Heliotrope J39 

Which?  141 

Marguerite 143 

My  Beloved's  Eyes 143 

"  I  Don't  Care  !  " 145 

Baby's  Dead 146 

Two  Windows 148 

In  a  Church loO 

My  Friend 151 

De  Profundis,  a  Prayer 152 

Father  Damien 153 

The  Drunkard's  Song 155 

Our  Baby 156 

Transfiguration 157 

Scotty's  Thanksgiving 159 

Lines  Written  in  a  Friend's  Album ....  161 

Two  Travellers 162 

Perseus 164 

The  Last  Kiss 165 

Just  Take  the  World  As  You  Find  It !66 

Charity 168 

Erina 169 

The  King  of  Shadows 171 

O  Salutaris  Hostia  ! 173 

A  Soul's  Remonstrance 175 

Tim  175 

Gethsemane 179 

Stronger  than  Death , 180 

Lady  Irene 182 

Ave  Maria 187 

Lines , 187 

Legend  of  Mt.  Diablo 188 

The  Dying  Magdalene , 195 


California 

A  beautiful  land  arose  in  the  West, 

L,ike  a  sea  nymph  fair  on  the  ocean's  breast, 

Beloved  and  caressed  by  the  waves  of  peace, 

That  merrily  sing  as  they  leap  and  increase. 

With  balmiest  air  beneath  the  skies, 

That  can  warm  the  heart  and  brighten  the  eyes, 

The  tropical  breeze  o'er  the  ocean  blows 

Its  odorous  breath  from  the  land  of  the  rose. 

Above  her  the  sky  is  stainless  and  blue 

As  that  of  Italia  that  poets  imbue. 

The  bright  stars  look  down  with  their  crystal  eyes 

To  mirror  this  land  in  the  far  away  skies. 

With  field  after  field  of  growing  grain, 

With  her  hills  and  valleys,  her  mountains  and  plain, 

Her  cities  and  homes  with  their  blooming  flow'rs, 

Her  rivers  and  cliffs  with  their  rocky  tow'rs. 

Her  giant-like  trees  as  sentinels  stand, 

The  appointed  of  God  to  watch  o'er  His  land. 

Majestic  as  souls  of  the  heroes  old, 

Their  voices  are  heard  in  the  breezes  bold. 

In  paeans  of  gladness  loud  they  sing, 

And  their  mammoth  arms  so  joyously  swing, 

Awaking  the  echoes  asleep  in  the  hills 

Till  turret  and  tower  with  melody  thrills. 


Down  deep  in  the  earth  in  rocky  homes, 
In  the  ghostly  gloom  are  her  elfish  gnomes; 
Away  from  the  sun  and  the  daylight  bright, 
They  merrily  toil  from  the  morn  to  the  night; 
They  merrily  sing  at  work  all  day 
In  their  caverns  deep  from  the  world  away; 
Their  sun  is  the  gold,  and  its  shining  light 
Illumines  their  homes  with  its  radiance  bright. 

Fantastic  and  weird  it  flits  about, 

All  around,  above,  now  in  and  then  out, 

They  live  in  the  earth,  in  the  earth  grow  old, 

And  merrily  dig  for  the  shining  gold. 

Her  people  are  children  nobly  sired, 

With  the  full,  round  limbs  by  sculptors  desired  ; 

The  Saxon  and  Celt,  with  the  Latin  and  Dane, 

A  people  have  left  without  blemish  or  stain. 

The  ruby  red  lips  and  dusky  eyes, 
And  the  rich  warm  blood  'neath  the  Southern  skies, 
Commingled  with  that  of  the  North  and  East, 
Our  glorious  type  of  the  West  released. 
Original,  free,  yet  gentle  and  wise, 
With  a  noble  soul  in  their  shining  eyes  ; 
Undaunted  and  fearless,  yet  tender  and  true. 
The  grandest  of  people  the  world  ever  knew. 

Oh  glorious  land  of  the  blessed  West ! 
With  a  golden  veil  o'er  thy  virgin  breast. 
Oh,  land  of  the  sun,  of  the  fig  and  vine  ! 
From  summits  of  snow  to  forests  of  pine, 
From  tropical  valleys  broad  and  free, 
From  trees  and  mounts  to  the  placid  sea. 
We  love  thee  full  well,  Oh  thou  holy  land  ! 
Thou  ' '  Star  of  the  West ' '  now  shining  so  grand  ! 


Oh,  land  of  the  lotus  !     Land  of  our  love  ! 
Who  tastes  of  thy  sweetness  shall  nevermore  rove. 
In  life  and  in  death,  to  thy  shores  they  turn; 
In  life  and  in  death,  with  thy  love  they  burn. 
When  years  upon  years,  in  the  cycle  vast, 
Shall  have  rolled  the  present  down  low  in  the  past, 
When  swept  from  the  earth  and  by  all  forgot, 
Our  souls  shall  remember  this  well-loved  spot. 


©afelanfc 

Thou  art  seated  in  state  on  a  bowered  throne, 

That  is  kissed  by  Pacific's  sea, 
Where  thou  watchest  the  ships  on  its  bosom  strown, 

As  they  lovingly  fly  to  thee. 
Thou  art  royally  decked  in  thy  virgin  mold, 

With  its  wrappings  of  emerald  sheen, 
And  the  russet  glimmers  of  purpling  gold, 

As  they  stream  from  thy  hills  of  green. 

Oh,  thou  queen  of  a  land  that  is  strong  and  brave, 

Of  a  new  and  a  budding  world, 
Thy  bright  fame  shall  be  borne  on  the  trumpet  wave, 

And  thy  ensign  abroad  unfurled  ! 
Thou  dost  blend  with  the  oak,  and  the  flushing  rose, 

In  symmetrical  fervid  stroke, 
All  the  graces  and  languor  of  love's  repose, 

With  the  strength  of  the  sturdy  oak. 

Oh,  fair  city  of  oaks,  by  the  silver  sea, 

With  thy  face  to  the  Golden  Gate, 
Thou  dost  govern  with  exquisite  brilliancy, 

From  thy  throne  of  majestic  state  ! 


10 

Oh,  enchantress  most  fair  !   Thou  dost  carve  thy  name 

In  the  pulse  of  each  loving  breast, 
Till  forever  it  burns  with  thy  glowing  flame, 

Thou  fair  sorceress  of  the  West ! 


Sonnet  to  an  ©afe 

Forsaken  oak  !     Thou  standest  here  alone  ! 

Forlorn  !     Bereft  of  every  kindred  tree, 

An  alien  in  the  city  named  for  thee, 
That  once  thy  sturdy  brethren  called  their  own. 
Progression's  hand  regardless  of  thy  moan, 

Has  smote  thee  to  the  earth  most  dastardly, 

And  left  no  trace  for  wondering  men  to  see 
By  what  strange  right  we  made  thy  name  our  own. 
Thy  forests  fell  beneath  destruction's  wing  ! 

No  more  the  lads  and  lasses  climb  the  boughs 
In  groves  where  once  thou  reigned  a  royal  king  ! 

And  listened  to  the  rustic  lover's  vows. 
Ah,  lonely  oak  !     Perchance  thy  gnarled  breast 
Shall  soon  be  pierced  and  leveled  with  the  rest ! 


3for  SomebooE's  Safce 

Oh  !     My  heart  is  light  and  gay, 
As  I  sing  the  hours  away, 
And  my  eyes  are  bright,  they  say, 
For  somebody's  sake — 
For  somebody's  sake  ! 

And  I  place  a  flower  fair 
In  the  coils  of  my  raven  hair 
With  a  wealth  of  loving  care, 
For  somebody's  sake  ! 


11 

I  would  wish  for  beauty's  dow'r, 
With  its  witching,  thrilling  pow'r. 
Ah,  I  wish  it  every  hour, 
For  somebody's  sake — 
For  somebody's  sake  ! 

With  a  flushing  happy  face 
I  arrange  the  dainty  lace 
In  soft  waves  of  artful  grace, 
For  somebody's  sake  ! 

My  sweet  secret  I  would  keep 
In  my  heart  so  still  and  deep, 
Where  no  prying  eyes  could  peep, 
For  somebody's  sake — 
For  somebody's  sake  ! 

But  the  tell-tale  blush  will  rise, 
And  my  treasured  secret  flies 
Through  the  sparkle  of  my  eyes, 
For  somebody's  sake  ! 


H  1ROSC 

Which  rose  shall  it  be? — you  ask: 
The  life-tinted  rose  of  red, 

Or,  choose  I  the  snowy  white, 
With  face  like  the  pallid  dead  ? 

Oh,  give  me  the  peaceful  white, 
That  holds  not  a  breath  of  strife 

Its  calm  is  much  sweeter  than 
The  passionate  rose  of  life. 

It  whispers  of  rest  and  peace, 
And  glows  like  a  blessed  psalm. 

Its  pinions  of  heaven's  white 
Are  steeped  in  a  god-like  calm. 


12 

The  breath  of  the  warm  red  rose 
Bears  on  its  perfumed  train 

Gay  pleasures  with  phantom  hate, 
And  love  with  her  sister  pain. 

It  whispers  of  joy  and  strife, 
It  gleams  with  the  ruby's  shine, 

And  borrows  the  blood  red  glow 
That  lurks  in  the  madd'ning  wine. 

Tempestuous  rose  of  life  ! 

The  passionate  rose  of  red, 
Its  petals  are  never  clasped 

In  passionless  hands  of  dead. 

The  tremulous  rose  of  love 
Is  not  for  an  aching  heart, 

Whose  passion-burned  ashes  lie, 
Impervious  to  its  dart. 

Then  take  back  the  red,  and  give 
The  rose  of  the  dead  to  me, 

There's  peace  in  its  tranquil  breath 
And  odorous  sanctity. 


Utust 

I  know  not,  I  ask  not,  the  loves 

That  thrilled  thy  heart. 
I  love  thee  as  fondly  and  true, 

Just  as  thou  art. 

I  care  not  if  love's  coronet 
Once  crowned  thy  brow; 
'  Tis  knowledge  enough  that  I  know 
You  love  me  now. 


13 


There  rises  no  doubt  in  ir.y  heart, 

Nor  shade  of  fear, 
While  in  thy  clear  eyes  I  can  read 

That  I  am  dear. 

A  nature  so  pure  and  so  true, 

Ne'er  could  betray; 
And  over  the  future  there  shines 

lyove's  golden  ray. 

The  past — we  return  it  unto 

Oblivion's  dust  ; 
The  present  and  future  we  greet 

With  faith  and  trust. 

A  faith  that  grows  firmer  and  deep 

With  every  breath; 
A  trust  that's  abiding  and  strong, 

And  lasts  "  'til  death." 

My  heart  will  ne'er  feel  a  regret 

For  years  long  past, 
Contented  and  happy,  if  you 

But  love  me  last. 


Breams 

TO  MY  GODCHILD,  CHESTER  A.  DOYLE. 

Full  many  dreams  are  woven 

Around  thy  infancy, 
Their  rosy  tints  foretelling 

A  bright  futurity. 

Such  dreams  that  loving  parents 
Can  only  dare  to  dream, 

Illume  the  misty  future 

With  hope's  refulgent  beam. 


14 

They  hover  o'er  thy  cradle 

And  banish  other  cares  ; 
They  mix  with  every  labor, 

And  fill  the  heart  with  prayers. 

They  brighten  life's  best  pleasures, 
And  shine  through  troubled  fears  ; 

They  chase  the  darkest  shadow, 
And  check  the  saddest  tears. 

Sweet  dreams  !     Sweet  bud  of  promise, 

The  blest  first-born  thou  art. 
Pure  babe  !     Pure  dreams  that  strengthen 

And  purify  the  heart 

Sweet  child,  with  eyes  reflecting 

Deep  wells  of  light  divine, 
Among  thy  wefted  dreamings 

I  weave  this  prayer  of  mine. 

May  Heaven  grant  fulfilment 
To  all  that  's  wished  for  him, 

And  manhood's  full  achievement 
O'erflow  the  topmost  brim. 

Through  by-ways  darkly  tangled, 

Or  high-ways  gleaming  far, 
May  faith  shine  out  in  beauty, 

And  be  his  guiding  star ! 

Her  loveliness  entrancing, 

In  splendor  shining  out, 
Undimmed  by  sinful  scorning, 

Unveiled  by  clouding  doubt ! 

Oh,  may  a  lover's  ardor 

Inflame  his  gentle  breast, 
For  this  celestial  treasure, 

His  dearest,  and  his  best ! 


15 

Hoon 

The  chiming  flow  of  the  noon  bell  falls 

Upon  the  busy  air, 
In  sweetest  language  its  music  calls 

The  crowd  to  rest  and  pray'r. 
The  tools  are  dropped  from  the  toiler's  hand, 

And  labor's  noises  cease, 
While  softly  over  the  throbbing  land, 

Are  spread  the  wings  of  peace. 
The  children  rush  like  a  swarm  of  bees, 

Released  from  irksome  rule  ; 
The  dumb  beasts  craunch  in  contented  ease 

Their  dinners  crisp  and  cool. 
From  out  the  depths  of  devoted  hearts 

A  wreath  of  prayer  ascends, 
To  bless  the  toilers  and  busy  marts 

Where  faith  makes  full  amends. 
Oh,  blessed  bell,  there  's  a  magic  charm 

Within  thy  chiming  hour  ; 
It  blesses  the  toil,  and  the  toiler's  arm 

Renews  with  freshened  power ! 


Dpmn  to  tbe  Sacreo  Deart 

There  's  a  place  where  the  weary  can  rest, 

Uncorroded  by  shackles  of  care, 
Where  the  poorest,  the  sad  and  distrest, 

Are  the  welcomest  visitors  there. 
We  are  called  to  this  warm  sunny  fold 

From  life's  burdens  and  sorrowing  smart, 
From  the  moorlands  and  drearisome  wold 

To  the  haven  of  Christ's  sacred  heart. 


16 


"  Come  to  me,  and  I'll  give  to  thee  rest ;" 

Through  the  ages  still  calling  to  us, 
Comes  the  voice  of  his  tenderest  breast, 

Ever  lovingly  whispering  thus. 
Oh,  dear  voice,  ever  calling  to  me, 

Let  me  taste  of  thy  love,  I  implore  ! 
In  humility  answering  thee, 

Let  me  dwell  in  thy  heart  evermore  ! 

Let  thy  love  be  a  magnet  of  flame 

That  will  draw  all  my  wishes  to  thee  ! 
In  temptations,  in  sorrow,  and  shame, 

Be  a  merciful  heart  unto  me  ! 
Oh,  dear  heart,  ever  loving  and  just, 

Teach  my  heart  in  submission  to  bend  ! 
Oh,  dear  Jesus  !     Dear  heart  that  I  trust, 

Be  my  hope  and  my  strength  to  the  end 


Enters 

Outside  of  Bethlehem's  silent  walls, 
Beyond  the  sound  of  the  sentry's  calls, 
Three  shepherds  guarded  since  close  of  day, 
The  slumb'ring  flocks  that  around  them  lay. 
A  sudden  flood  of  supernal  light 
Up-startled  the  watchers  thrilled  with  fright, 
While  lo,  an  angel  of  God  appeared  ! 
And  close  to  the  trembling  shepherds  neared. 

"  Fear  not,  fear  not,"  said  the  vision  fair, 
'  'A  message  of  wonderful  love  I  bear. 
Fear  not !     Fear  not !     'Tis  without  alloy, 
This  wond'rous  tidings  of  greatest  joy. 


17 

To  every  nation  joy  I  send  ; 

To  every  people  joy  extend. 

Then  joyous  hear,  for  I  come  to  bring 

You  joyful  tidings  of  Christ,  your  King. 

"  Forever  blest  is  this  hallowed  morn, 
For  know — to-day  is  your  King  new  born 
Of  Mary,  virgin.     Go,  seek  you  them 
In  David's  city  of  Bethlehem  ! 
And  by  this  sign  you  may  surely  know 
The  Saviour  and  King  to  whom  you  go. 
In  swaddling  clothes  is  this  Christ  divine, 
And  cradled  in  manger  with  the  kine." 

The  angel  ceased,  and  hosannas  rung 
From  troops  celestial,  who  joyful  sung, 
Resounding  far  through  the  earth  and  sky, 
Their  "Glory,  glory  to  God  on  high  ! 
And  peace  to  men  of  good  will  on  earth  !  " 
A  peace,  sweet  peace,  with  the  Saviour's  birth. 
The  new  blest  earth  felt  a  joyous  thrill, 
And  a  deathless  peace  all  its  pulses  fill. 

The  shepherds  rose  and  forgot  their  fears, 
Uprose  in  mingled  delight  and  tears  ; 
And  straight  to  Bethlehem's  city  sought 
The  King  whose  tidings  the  angel  brought. 
Within  a  manger  the  infant  slept, 
While  Mary  and  Joseph  their  vigil  kept. 
These  lowly  men  at  the  lowly  shrine, 
In  rapture  adored  that  child  divine. 

Nor  doubted  they  the  incarnate  Word, 
Whose  royal  message  their  ears  had  heard. 
The  seraphim's  song  their  soul  inspired 
With  a  joyous  peace  they  long  desired. 


18 


A  peace  new-born  from  the  mangered  throne  ; 
A  peace  to  the  world  undreamed,  unknown. 
Sing  out  ye  bells,  in  wild  rapture  sing 
The  angel's  tidings  of  Christ,  our  King  ! 


an  Hpple 

Oh  lovely  fruit  !   whose  faultless  beauty  shines 

In  perfect  grace.     From  out  thy  rotund  cheeks 
Is  flashed  the  scarlet  flames  of  ruby  wines, 

Through  which  thy  ripe  skin  peeps  in  golden  streaks. 
With  keen  desire  I  wooed  thy  luscious  heart, 

But  found  a  horrid  worm  full  nestled  there, 
Its  nauseous  length  entrailed  thro'  every  part. 

My  lips  affrighted  shrunk  in  sick  despair, 
And.  cursing,  dashed  the  foul  deceit  away. 

I  gazed  upon  the  flawless  treachery 
Whose  tempting  loveliness  discarded  lay  ; 

Its  unveiled  heart  a  squirming  mockery. 
Ah,  fair  deceit,  that  lies  neglected  now  ! 

How  many  forms  are  fair,  yet  false  as  thou  ! 


Ifoeart 

What  fathomless  caves  lie  hid  in  the  heart, 

Unpierced  by  a  daylight  gleam  ! 
What  mysteries  dwell  in  chambers  apart, 

The  dearest  of  friends  ne'er  dream  ! 
What  shadowy  forms,  unknown,  unrevealed, 

Within  its  recesses  dwell  ! 
What  phantoms  abide,  in  secrecy  sealed, 

Unbroken  by  threat  or  spell  ! 


19 


What  cankering  brood  of  memories  there, 

Oft  raise  their  discordant  din, 
In  revelry  through  the  lecherous  air, 

Half  hid  in  their  cowl  of  sin  ! 
What  passionate  loves,  volcanoes  of  fire, 

Consuming  the  forms  of  snow  ! 
What  spasms  of  hate,  and  sordid  desires, 

The  nearest  shall  never  know  ! 

• 

Gay  laughter  deceives,  while  inwardly  bleed 

Deep  wounds,  with  no  sign  to  show. 
Endeavor  is  baffled,  trying  to  read 

The  rhymes  of  its  pulsing  flow. 
A  smile  for  a  smile,  a  sneer  for  a  sneer, 

Unfathomed  the  secret  sigh. 
Betrayed  by  a  kiss,  repelled  by  a  tear, 

And  so,  undiscerning,  die  ! 


Wettoing 

Tiny  burnished  circlet 

Of  strong  and  shining  gold, 
Binding  hearts  together 

With  firm  and  gentle  hold. 
Gleams  of  heaven  linger 

Within  thy  close  embrace, 
Like  an  Kden's  sunshine 

With  smiles  upon  its  face. 
Dancing  on  its  sunbeams 

In  joyous  ecstasy, 
Shapeful  dreams  of  beauty 

The  magic  band  sets  free. 
Within  the  charm'd  circle 


20 


Of  Hymen's  golden  ring, 
Fairy  forms  are  dancing 

And  fairy  voices  sing  ! 
Dwells  therein  enchantress, 

Whose  potent  charm  and  spell 
Changes  earth  to  Heaven 

Or  conjures  up  a  Hell  ! 
Tiny  sparkling  circlet 

Of  fitful  destiny, 
Witching,  mystic  emblem 

Of  veiled  eternity  ! 


H  Song 

There's  a  dear  little  lass  that  I  love,  that  I  love, 
And  her  eyes  are  as  soft  as  the  eyes  of  a  dove. 
And  I  wonder  the  while  as  she  warbles  in  glee, 
If  her  heart  has  a  corner  devoted  to  me  ; 
She's  as  sweet  as  the  pea, 

Or  the  blossoming  clover 
Of  the  carpeted  lea. 

And  a  bee  (Ah,  the  prying  young  rover  !  ) 
Almost  stung  her  red  lips 

In  his  search  for  a  flower. 
There  to  revel  in  sips 
From  its  honey-sweet  dower. 

There's  a  gleam  in  the  depths  of  her  merry  brown  eyes, 
As  she  guesses  my  secret,  though  feigning  surprise. 
Still  I  wonder  the  while  as  she  warbles  in  glee, 
If  her  heart  has  a  corner  devoted  to  me  ; 
She  will  laugh  and  will  jest 
At  my  tenderest  speeches, 
And  if  kissed  or  caressed, 
Of  its  sinfulness  preaches. 


21 


But  my  fate  I  must  know, 

Though  she  laughs  at  my  passion  ; 
If  she  loves  me  I  know 

She  will  alter  her  fashion  ! 


(Brave 


I  knelt  beside  thy  grave, 

Dear  friend  of  happy  days. 
Oh  !     Did'st  thy  spirit  hover  near, 

And  on  me,  kneeling,  gaze  ? 
Did'st  see  the  falling  tears 

And  hear  the  earnest  pray'r  ? 
And  wert  thou  pleased  that  I  should  come 

To  hold  communion  there  ? 

The  clouds  were  dark  and  gray, 

All  wintry  was  the  sky, 
And  round  about  the  silent  tombs 

The  chill  winds  whistled  by. 
No  sound  of  mirth,  nor  song 

From  bird  in  bush  or  tree  ; 
The  frosty  breath  of  voiceless  death, 

The  wind  brought  back  to  me  ! 

Amid  this  silence  drear, 

Thy  lonely  home  must  be. 
Untouched  the  chords  that  once  awoke 

To  song  and  minstrelsy. 
I  wandered  there  alone, 

And  fain  would  gaze  above 
The  clouds  that  hid  from  mortal  sight, 

The  friend  I  dearly  love. 


22 

It  could  not  be.     But  yet, 

'Tis  sweet  to  know  and  feel 
That  when  upon  my  brow  is  set 

Death's  cold  and  silent  seal, 
We'll  meet  again,  dear  friend, 

Where  shadows  dark  and  gray, 
Shall  roll  away  before  the  sun 

Of  God's  eternal  day  ! 


TTbe  Berkeley  UMlls 

'Twas  aeons  of  aeons  ago 

Since  Heaven  looked  down  on  thy  birth, 
Since  ocean's  residual  flow 

Unveiled  all  the  shivering  earth. 
Did  mortal,  with  pitying  eye, 

Gaze  out  o'er  a  desert  of  land, 
Where  moonbeams  slid  down  from  the  sky, 

To  dance  on  the  naked  brown  sand? 

Did  aught  that  was  human  espy 

Thy  naked  and  verdureless  breast  ? 
Or  list  to  the  infantile  cry 

Of  Nature's  emerging  unrest  ? 
No  strain  from  thy  earliest  days 

Floats  out  from  the  cavernous  years, 
In  feeblest  of  echoing  lays, 

Assuring  our  questioning  ears. 

We  gaze  on  thy  canyons  and  spires, 

All  scatt'ring  maturity's  seeds, 
And,  quivering  with  vitalized  fires, 

Bnshowered  by  Phoebus'  steeds. 
His  splintering  arrows  aglow 

He  sends  to  thy  leafiest  hearts, 
Just  glinting  the  canyons  below — 

The  foliage  prisons  the  darts. 


23 


Far  down  ill  the  purple  ravine 

The  serpentine  rivulets  glide, 
And  twine  in  a  silvery  sheen, 

Half  hid  in  the  brush- tangled  side. 
Hosannas  from  proud  antlered  trees, 

And  psalms  from  the  heathery  sod, 
Awake  in  the  chorusing  breeze 

The  mastering  presence  of  God  ! 

Thy  pyramids,  towers  and  peaks, 

Like  helmeted  sentinels  stand  ; 
Luxuriant  sun-setting  streaks 

Empurple  the  turreted  band. 
Light  waves  from  the  flickering  day 

Roll  up  in  a  nebulous  veil 
Of  mist  from  the  languorous  bay, 

Enveloping  summit  and  trail ! 


Caressing 

Thou  'rt  gone  from  me,  and  I  must  tread  alone 

My  life's  appointed  way.     In  light  and  shade 

A  mem'ry  lingers  on,  that  cannot  fade. 
Thy  tender  hands  that  clung  unto  my  own, 
Were  mute  interpreters  of  love's  sweet  tone. 

I  know  no  fear,  though  far  beyond  me  strayed 

Those  tender  hands  that  once  upon  me  laid, 
Will  reach  me  still,  and  guide  through  paths  unknown 
A  mighty  calm,  subduing  all  my  fears, 

Steals  softly  from  the  dark  eternal  vast, 
And,  floating  from  the  pierceless  depths  of  years, 

I  feel  thy  presence  like  a  shadow  cast, 
And  oft  through  wild  delirium  of  tears, 

I  ve  felt  thy  hand  clasp  till  the  tempest  passed  ! 


24 


H  IRlcb  flDan's  iReverie 

A  rich  man  sat  beside  his  fire, 
And,  smiling,  rubbed  his  hands  : 

"  A  lucky  year  was  this  for  me, 
It  brought  me  gold  and  lands. 

"  I've  gold  in  notes,  and  gold  in  bonds, 

In  bank,  and  mortgage,  too. 
A  wealthy  man  I  sit  to-night, 

With  all  that  wealth  can  do  ! " 

Then  memr'y  came  and  held  her  glass 

Before  the  rich  man's  eyes, 
And  pictured  there  he  saw  the  past 

From  deep  oblivion  rise. 

There  came  a  woman,  young  and  fair, 

And  child  of  airy  grace  ; 
While  gazing  on  this  youthful  love, 

A  smile  came  o'er  his  face. 

This  picture  passed  and  then  he  saw 

Two  coffins  side  by  side, — 
In  one  his  loved  and  only  child, 

The  other  held  his  bride. 

An  eager,  grasping  man  he  saw 

In  Mammon's  busy  mart, 
Whose  quenchless  thirst  for  shining  gold 

Had  spoiled  his  better  part. 

His  fight  for  gold  was  fiercely  fought, 

The  vict'ry  bravely  won, — 
What  should  he  care  for  vanquished  foes, 

If  fifty,  or  if  one  ? 


25 


And  yet  the  rich  man  -shuddered  when 

He  saw  in  mem'ry's  glass, 
Strong  men  and  women,  pale  and  stark 

In  death,  before  him  pass  ! 

And  others  came  with  glaring  eyes, 
Their  gestures  strange  and  wild, 

The  rich  man  shrank  away  from  these, 
And  trembled  like  a  child. 

But  wilder,  angrier  gleamed  their  eyes, 

And  with  revenge  athirst, 
They  cried,  "  Your  gold  is  blood! — our  blood !- 

Our  lives  !    'Tis  curst !  accursed  !  " 

Then  mem'ry  took  her  glass  away. 

The  rich  man  rose  and  sighed  ; 
"Accursed  gold  !  how  poor  am  I  ! 

So  poor  !   so  poor  !"   he  cried. 


Hutumn 

The  leaves  are  falling  one  by  one, 
Some  lie  at  rest  beneath  the  sun, 
While  others  on  the  winds  are  borne, 
And  'neath  the  requiem  sad  and  kind, 
Afar  their  lowly  graves  they  find. 

The  trees  thus  stripped,  stand  bare  and  cold, 
Their  naked  arms  no  beauty  hold. 
The  bird's  love  song  no  more  is  told  ; 
They  fled  the  touch  of  winter's  hand, 
Bereft  of  all,  the  old  trees  stand. 


26 


Thus  fall  our  hopes  down  one  by  one, 
Thus  fade  our  joys  with  summer's  sun, 
Thus  dies  our  bloom,  when  scarce  begun, 
With  fragrant  youth  and  beauty  flown, 
As  leafless  trees  we  stand  alone. 

This  season  comes  to  ev'ry  heart, 
When  keenly  felt  is  autumn's  dart, 
That  bids  each  blossom  fair  depart. 
But  spring  must  surely  come  at  last — 
Eternal  spring,  when  winter's  passed. 


In  the  winds  that  blow  from  the  sun-kissed  South, 

I  feel  the  breath  of  thy  rosy  mouth. 

When  the  roses  blush  as  the  parting  sun 

Gives  his  farewell  kiss  when  the  day  is  done, 

In  the  petaled  blush  of  their  tinted  grace, 

I  can  see  the  charms  of  thy  flushing  face. 

When  the  lilies  smile  'neath  their  tears  of  dew, 

Thro'  the  crystal  eyes  I  can  gaze  at  you. 

I  can  hear  thy  voice  thro'  the  forest  trees, 

And  it  strangely  floats  o'er  the  evening  breeze. 

In  the  ocean's  roar  when  the  storm  winds  blow, 

And  in  whispered  sighs  thro'  the  streamlets  flow, 

As  the  currents  tend  to  the  calling  sea, 

So  my  thoughts  all  glide  till  they're  lost  in  thee  ! 

In  the  air  and  sky,  in  the  world  all  through, 

I  am  blest  with  visions  of  you — but  you  ! 

And  the  sweetest  chords  in  an  undertone, 

In  a  singing  psalm  that  is  all  mine  own, 

On  a  holy  wave  bear  me  upward  to 

A  delightful  realm  where  there's  none  but  you  ! 


27 


Ah  !     Forever  more  my  awakened  soul 
Shall,  a  captive,  kneel  to  thy  sweet  control. 
And  the  purity  of  thy  soul  divine 
Shall  bestow  its  color  and  form  to  mine. 
In  the  morning  gray,  in  the  noonday  glare, 
In  the  hush  of  night,  an  embodied  Pray'r 
In  thy  form  enrobed,  fills  my  raptured  view, 
Till  my  world's  a  glass  that  reflects  but  you  ! 


Soul  anb  3 

In  the  foremost  rank  of  the  hurrying  crowd, 

I  kept  up  the  pace  of  the  swift  and  proud. 

All  my  thoughts  were  bound  to  the  passionate  throng, 

And  borne  through  the  busiest  years  along. 

A  most  willing  serf,  in  a  slavery  sweet, 

Untouched  by  the  curse  of  the  laggard's  feet. 

Like  a  rainbow  sun  that  encircles  the  skies, 

The  future  shone  out  thro'  prismatic  dyes. 

By  a  wave  of  pain  from  the  ocean  of  grief, 
My  hopes  were  all  stranded  on  sorrow's  reef, 
And  I  watched  the  crowd  in  their  hurry  go  by, 
While  sitting  alone — but  my  soul  and  I. 
For  the  world  draws  back  from  the  tempest  of  tears, 
That  rouses  the  rumbling  of  answering  fears, 
And  it  turns  in  dread,  from  the  harrowing  moan, 
That  shadows  its  joys  with  a  haunting  tone. 

As  I  sat  alone  for  a  wearisome  while, 
My  soul  looked  at  me  with  a  patient  smile, 
With  a  softened  glow  of  such  infinite  grace, 
Half  veiling  its  sorrowful,  pallid  face. 


28 

"  We're  alone  at  last !  "  was  its  ecstasied  cry. 
"Alone  !  and  together — but  you  and  I, 
How  I've  longed  for  this,  with  such  exquisite  pain 
Through  tedious  years,  till  it  seemed  in  vain  ! 

"  'Tis  a  blessed  grief  that  relinquishes  thee 
To  thoughtful  communion  alone  with  me. 
You  will  heed  me  now,  while  together  alone, 
And  for  past  injustice,  perchance  atone. 
I  have  called  in  vain  thro'  the  hurrying  years, 
Have  called  in  a  frenzy  of  tortured  fears ; 
You  were  deaf  to  all  of  my  agonized  cries, 
And  blind  to  the  woe  of  my  tear-stained  eyes. 

"  While  you  rushed  along  in  your  maddening  race, 
With  never  a  glance  at  my  pleading  face, 
And  the  mocking  laugh  of  the  phantoms  that  flee, 
Seemed  dearer  to  you  than  a  smile  from  me. 
The  delusive  glow  of  a  languorous  ease 
Deceitfully  shines  from  your  phantasies, 
But  they  melt  away  in  your  pitiful  clasp, 
Eluding  derisively  every  grasp. 

"  You  are  held  in  thrall  by  this  vapor}*-  crew, 

And  I — am  I  nothing  at  all  to  you  ? 

As  you  court  the  crowds  of  tumultuous  care, 

You  seetn  to  forget  I  am  with  you  there, 

And  my  weary  voice  that  you  scarcely  can  tell, 

Must  die  in  a  desolate  wailing  knell. 

Must  it  ever  be  undivided  from  you  ? 

And  yet  have  no  voice  in  the  things  you  do  ? 

;<  Must  I  meekly  yield  to  captivity's  chains, 
Inviting  the  lash  of  the  victor's  reins  ? 
And  supinely  follow  to  tyranny's  rule, 
Till  I,  who  am  master,  become  the  tool  ? 


29 


Must  a  master  bow  to  a  menial's  control, 
Accepting  the  smite  of  the  scourge  as  dole, 
That  is  tribute  meet  for  a  slave  who  will  crawl, 
Abased,  thro'  the  bitterest  pools  of  gall. 

"  Ah — it  must  not  be  !  for  divided  we  die  ! 
But  blending  together — just  you  and  I, 
In  a  blessed  psalm  all  the  harmonied  years, 
Attuned  to  the  music  of  choired  spheres, 
Shall  float  along  with  such  infinite  zest, 
Till  gathered  together  on  Zion's  breast. 
'Tis  a  blessed  grief  that  has  carried  my  cry, 
Forever  uniting  us — you  and  I  !  " 

As  my  soul  thus  spoke  to  my  innermost  sense, 
Each  lethargic  thought  was  aroused  and  tense, 
Till  the  past  arose  in  a  cumulus  cloud 
And  hung  o'er  the  years  like  the  winter's  shroud. 
All  the  harrowed  years  unproductive  and  bare, 
That  blinded  my  eyes  with  their  barren  glare. 
And  I  blest  the  grief  and  the  torturing  sigh 
That  brought  us  together, — my  soul  and  I. 


Stream  of  %ife 

Murmuring,  prattling,  gliding  along, 

Merrily  splashing  the  rocks  in  the  sun, 
Drops  of  crystal  from  purling  rills 

To  the  flowing  river  eagerly  run, 
L,eaving  the  sylvan  shady  retreat, 
Seeking  the  river  with  flying  feet, 
lyOnging  to  flow  with  the  glistening  throng, 
And  raise  their  voice  in  jubilant  song. 


30 


Splashing,  dashing,  rushing  along, 

Joyously  seeking  the  wonderful  sea, 
Rushing  onward  the  river  goes 

To  the  mighty  ocean,  boundless  and  free. 
L,onging  to  burst  its  narrow  confines, 
Longing  to  greet  the  noisy  waves, 
And  join  the  sea  that  surges  and  raves. 

Roaring,  raging,  tossing  aloft 

Ponderous  arms  in  the  mighty  affray  ; 

Rushing  onward  in  ocean's  war, 

Dash  the  battling  waves  in  martial  array. 

Murmuring  drops  from  cryslaline  rills — 

Briniest  woe  each  crystal  heart  fills. 

For  captive  still  to  fatal  decree, 

They,  shivering,  moan  in  the  boundless  sea. 


%e0ent>  of  tbe  jessamine 

All  through  Jerusalem's  scented  air, 

Blossoms  just  newly  born, 
Sprung  up  luxuriant  everywhere, 

K'en  on  Good  Friday  morn. 

A  host  of  beautiful  flowers  gaze 

Up  to  the  morning  sun, 
Unconscious  that  e'er  its  setting  rays, 

Sorrow  should  blight  each  one. 

The  cross  was  raised,  and  the  Saviour  hung, 

Dying  in  agony, 
Until  his  voice,  in  a  shiver  rung, 

Echoed  o'er  Calvary. 


31 


The  sun  in  terror  the  world  forsook, 

Shocked  at  the  Saviour's  cry. 
The  grieving  earth  to  its  centre  shook, 

Watching  the  Saviour  die. 

A  midnight  cloud  o'er  the  city  fell, 

Fell  in  a  pall  of  dread. 
The  trembling  earth,  in  a  moaning  knell, 

Wailed  till  his  spirit  fled. 

When  all  was  o'er  and  the  clouds  had  fled,  - 

Fled  like  a  thunder's  rain, 
Each  bud  and  blossom  was  crushed  and  dead, 

Withered  by  fright  and  pain. 

But  one  sweet  flower  hid  its  anguished  heart 

Under  its  humid  leaf, 
And  softly  wept  at  each  piercing  dart, — 

Wept  in  a  silent  grief. 

The  sad-faced  jessamine's  blossoms  flew 

Up  to  the  sombre  light, 
Their  glowing  petals  of  pinkish  hue 

Changed  to  a  snowy  white. 


32 


(3ix>e  tb£  2Lo\?e  IRow 


In  this  toilsome  world  of  pain 
There  are  loving  hearts  and  true, 

But  they  pass  through  mist  and  rain, 
I,onging  for  a  word  from  you  ; 

Yet,  you  love  them  well,  I  know  — 

Why  not  tell  them  so  ? 

If  you  love  them  let  them  know; 

Let  your  heart  in  tenderness 
Through  your  loving  language  flow 

With  a  gentle,  soft  caress. 
Tell  them,  kissing  cheek  and  brow, 
Tell  it  to  them  now  ! 

Shall  thy  wealth  of  love  unknown 
Waste  in  grieved  rebuking  tears 

On  the  chiseled  icy  stone 

Oe'r  their  grave  in  later  years  ? 

Bless  with  love  their  living  brow, 

Give  it  to  them  now  ! 

They  won't  heed  your  weeping  love 
When  they  lie  within  the  tomb, 

Where  the  grasses  wave  above, 

Through  the  loneliness  and  gloom  ! 

I^et  the  joy  of  love's  soft  vow 

Make  them  happy  now  ! 

Do  not  hide  sweet  thoughts  away, 
Teeming  with  affection's  flame, 

Hearts  are  thirsting  all  the  day, 

Craving  love  to  breathe  their  name  ; 

If  you  love  them  let  them  know,  — 

Softly  tell  them  so  ! 


33 

%ittle  Ubings 

Little  things  are  the  test  of  man, 
Day  by  day  till  the  lengthened  years 

Count  us  out  the  allotted  span. 
Day  by  day  the  little  fears 
Raise  a  storm  of  rebellious  tears. 

Poets  sing  of  heroes  great, 

Weaving  names  in  immortal  song, 

Instruments  in  the  hand  of  fate. 
Not  a  line  for  the  one  gone  wrong, 
Forced  o'er  roads  that  are  rough  and  long. 

Dreaming  dreams  that  no  waking  brings, 
Years  fly  by  while  they  hope  and  wait, 

Held  in  bond  by  the  "  little  things." 
Hoping  on  till  the  day  grows  late, 
Meeting  all  at  the  "  shining  gate  !  " 

Few  are  kissed  by  a  smiling  fate, 
Few  are  marked  for  immortal  fame. 

All  can  strive  for  a  record  great, 

All  can  carve  for  themselves  a  name, 
Traced  on  high  with  a  pen  of  flame  ! 

'Neath  the  frown  of  relentless  fate, 
Sink  not  down  to  a  coward's  place  ! 

Duty  makes  all  thy  actions  great, 
Scanning  them  with  approving  face, 
When  they're  done  with  a  patient  grace. 

Better  far  than  the  laurel  crown, 

Is  the  crown  from  the  King  of  kings. 

Sweeter  far  than  the  earth's  renown, 
Is  the  song  that  God's  choir  sings 
To  the  faithful  in  little  things  ! 


34 


tbe 

I'll  never  forget  the  morning 

We  weighed  our  baby,  Ray, 
Myself  and  the  nurse  and  doctor, 

While  mother  watched  us  weigh. 
It  glowed  like  a  pink  narcissus 

A-blooming  in  the  glen. 
We  watched  till  the  squirming  blossom 

Brought  down  the  scale  to  ten  ! 

Then  mother  looked  up  so  joyful, 

And  softly  smiled  to  me. 
The  doctor  took  off  his  glasses, 

As  proud  as  proud  could  be. 
And  I  was  so  proud  and  happy 

I  hardly  dared  to  speak, 
As  gently  I  kissed  its  mother 

Upon  her  snow-white  cheek. 

To-day  we  have  weighed  the  baby, 

Our  only  daughter,  Ray, 
And  mother  and  I  were  watching, 

Her  lover  stooped  to  weigh, 
And  both  of  us  were  so  happy 

To  see  our  darling  thrive, 
Real  proud  when  the  scale  was  tilted 

At  one  —  and  twenty-five  ! 

A  feeling  of  strange  new  sadness 

Stole  over  me  while  there, 
A  loss  which  was  felt,  yet  nameless, 

Would  linger  round  the  pair. 
In  fancy  I  saw  the  baby 

A-wriggling  to  and  fro, 
The  same  as  it  did  that  morning, 

Just  twenty  years  ago. 


35 


"Ube  ©U>,  ©It) 

They  kept  time  with  their  wandering  feet 
To  the  rhymes  of  the  musical  surf, 

While  the  silvery  moon  swept  too  fleet 
O'er  the  beach  and  its  water-soaked  turf. 

In  the  suavest  of  accents  he  told 
Of  the  love  that  illumined  his  heart. 

And  he  whispered  the  story  so  old, 
With  the  acme  of  Cupid's  fine  art. 

Thus  they  wandered  a  fortnight  or  more 
In  the  shadowy  hours  of  the  night, 

And  together  discoursed  of  the  lore, 
That  is  never  insipid  nor  trite. 

And  they  vowed  as  they  studied  the  stars, 
That  for  life  they'd  be  constant  and  true. 

In  his  veins  was  the  valor  of  Mars 
To  surmount  all  objections  in  view. 

Ah,  their  parting  was  sad  as  could  be  ! 

And  a  tempest  of  heart-breaking  tears 
Broke  the  rhymes  of  the  rythmical  sea, 

Till  it  shrieked  out  its  agonized  fears. 

It  was  years  since  they  met  by  the  sea; 

It  was  years  since  their  tragic  farewell. 
And  they  met  once  again  by  the  sea, 

In  the  lapse  of  a  twenty  years'  spell. 

Still  the  sea  sung  its  musical  rhymes 
To  the  splash  of  its  crystaline  spray, 

As  it  had  in  the  love-stricken  times 

When  they  walked  by  the  moon's  fickle  ray. 


36 

She  had  turned,  half  intending  to  flee, 
But  he  rushed  in  a  boyish  surprise, 

And  they  stood  by  the  rythmical  sea 
With  a  quizzical  light  in  their  eyes. 

There  they  talked  for  a  moment  or  more, 

Of  the  moon  and  malarial  turf, 
And  conversed  in  the  tritest  of  lore, 

Of  the  dampness  and  cold  of.  the  surf. 

Till  he  turned  to  a  maiden  and  said: 

"  Here's  my  daughter,  my  sweet  little  Pearl." 

Then  she  flushed  up  the  rosiest  red — 

"Mine  are  twins,  here's  the  boy  and  the  girl." 


Mbat  Sball  $  Sing? 

"  Sing  me  a  song  ! ' '     Said  a  maiden  to  me, 
As  I  toyed  with  the  chords  in  a  dream. 
"  Tell  me,  "  I  said,  "  what  my  song  is  to  be; 

You  must  choose  for  the  singer  a  theme." 
Flushed  as  the  rose  on  Aurora's  bright  wing, 

In  a  voice  like  the  coo  of  a  dove, 
Answered  me  low,  "  L,et  the  singer  then  sing 
Of  the  wonderful  power  of  love." 

"  Sing  me  a  song  !  "     Said  a  young  Hercules, 
Through  a  mist  of  white  ringleted  smoke; 
"  Choose  me  a  theme  that  your  fancy  will  please," 

And  I  waited  awhile  ere  he  spoke. 
Soft  was  the  gleam  in  his  bonny  brown  eyes, 

As  he  gazed  on  the  quivering  rings, 
"  Sing  me,"  he  said,  with  the  faintest  of  sighs, 
' '  Of  true  love,  as  a  true  lover  sings  ! ' ' 

"  Sing  us  a  song  !  "     Said  a  gray-headed  sire, 
As  he  sat  by  the  side  of  his  dame. 


37 

"  What  shall  I  sing? — Of  the  warrior's  fire, 

Till  it  tingles  thy  blood  with  its  flame  ?  " 
"  Nay,  not  of  war,  nor  its  turbulent  strife, 

But  a  theme  that  is  far,  far  above; 
Sing," — and  he  stroked  the  white  hair  of  his  wife — 
"  Thou  shalt  sing  us  a  song  full  of  love  !  " 


In  the  dim  and  misty  twilight 
'Tis  sweet  to  sit  and  dream, 
'Tis  the  hour  to  hold  communion 
With  souls  across  the  stream. 

They  will  linger  in  the  shadows 

That  follow  dying  day  ; 
They  will  make  us  feel  their  presence, 

By  weird  and  thrilling  sway. 

They  will  soothe  our  heart  in  anguish, 
And  bring  a  peaceful  calm, 

All  the  weary  tumult  ceasing 
Beneath  the  heav'nly  balm. 

Then  we  feel  the  peaceful  beauty 

Of  heaven,  earth  and  sky. 
Then  we  feel  that  God  has  made  us 

For  something  grand  and  high. 

And  our  weary,  weary  struggles 

All  seem  to  flit  away, 
As  we  sit  and  dream  at  twilight 

Beneath  the  shadows  gray. 

All  the  stormy,  angry  feelings 
That  turned  our  thoughts  away 

From  our  kind  and  heavenly  Father, 
Now  vanish  with  the  day. 


38 


And  from  out  the  shadows  cometh 

A  peace  beyond  compare, 
Such  a  peace  the  heart  ne'er  findeth 

In  worldly  show  and  glare. 

In  our  heart  there  springs  a  yearning 

For  holy,  purer  things, 
And  a  pray'r,  tho'  half  unconscious, 

Its  healing  balsam  brings. 

When  the  twilight  gray  has  faded 
And  stars  are  shining  bright, 

We  arise  refreshed  and  strengthened, 
With  heart  all  pure  and  light. 

And  again  return  to  duties 
That  seemed  so  hard  to-day, 

But  our  twilight  dream  has  banished 
Rebellious  thoughts  away. 


Ube  passion  jflower 

Oh,  flower  lowly  ! 

In  whispers  holy, 

That  speakest  with  a  wondrous  art 
Of  marvels  hid  within  thy  heart ; 
Of  vict'ry  gained  by  martyr's  loss, — 
The  wondrous  story  of  the  cross. 
Thou  breathest  to  the  wondering  air, 
The  glowing  truths  in  thy  bosom  fair 

Oh,  glowing  story  ! 

The  Christian's  glory  ! 

Whose  nails,  and  wounds,  and  thorny  crown, 
Have  smoothed  Jehovah's  angry  frown. 


39 


Reminders  of  a  pagan  past, 
The  cross  of  Christ  has  overcast ; 
That  tells  how  God's  anathema  broke 
Beneath  the  gush  of  the  hammer's  stroke  ! 

Thou  peerless  flower 

Of  richest  dower  ! 
The  dearest  legend  mortal  weaves, 
Is  writ  upon  thy  storied  leaves; 
Is  traced  upon  thy  open  heart 
In  penciled  gleams  of  matchless  art  ! 
Thus  chosen  by  the  infinite  hand 
To  reign  high  priest  of  the  floral  band  ! 

Uo  OLetitta 

I  sing  of  a  winsome  maiden, 

Warm-hearted,  loyal  and  true, 
With  tresses  of  amber  sunshine, 

And  eyes  of  Orient's  blue. 
A  face  that  is  warm  and  loving, 

All  flushed  with  modesty's  glow; 
And  wit  that  is  bright  and  brilliant, 

I/ike  sparkling  wine  in  its  flow. 

A  mouth  with  its  trove  of  treasure, 

Would  win  a  saint  to  consent, 
Yet  pure  as  the  flame  of  Vesta, 

That  makes  a  sinner  repent. 
Tho'  void  of  all  that's  artful, 

She's  full  of  womanly  art, 
And  teems  with  bewitching  graces, 

That  conquer  every  heart. 


40 


Her  thoughts  like  the  rose's  dreaming, 

All  glistening  in  showers  of  love, 
Are  pure  as  the  tears  of  crystal, 

That  fall  from  fountains  above. 
She  fosters  no  jealous  feelings, 

To  blight  her  maidenly  charms, 
But  thrills  with  a  noble  purpose, 

That  envy's  arrow  disarms. 

Oh,  maid  of  the  sunny  tresses, 

And  eyes  of  Orient's  blue  ! 
Wilt  thou  thro'  the  untried  future 

Be  ever  as  loyal  and  true  ? 
When  time  with  his  frosty  fingers 

Shall  twine  us  garlands  of  snow, 
May  love  touch  the  chastened  meshes, 

And  leave  his  lingering  glow  ! 


Hushed  is  daylight's  busy  hum. 
IyO,  what  orisoned  dreams  may  come  ! 
Gliding  shapes  of  perfumed  light 
Through  the  vaporous,  wreathed  night ! 
Soft  as  poet's  waving  theme, 
Fair  as  opium-tinted  dream, 
Plaintively  their  rustling  wings 
Sigh  in  circling  rings. 

Through  the  evening's  dreamy  glow, 
Watching  Sirius  dipping  low, 
Gazing  on  scintellant  forts, 
Flashing  out  in  the  starry  courts, 


41 


Whispers  o'er  the  spirit  creep,  — 
Voiceless  shades  from  the  realm  of  sleep; 
Psychic  shades  of  astral  light, 
Born  of  weeping  night. 

Labor  folds  its  weary  hands, 
Freed  awhile  from  their  iron  bands; 
In  the  cerements  of  night, 
Soars  to  spheres  of  celestial  light. 
Parching  drinks  from  hallowed  streams 
Subtly  scenting  the  land  of  dreams; 
Vital  springs  whose  gleaming  ray 
Vanishes  at  day  ! 

Yet,  alas  !  night's  starry  veil 
Covers  many  a  hidden  wail; 
Falls  on  some  who  seek  not  sleep, 
Some  that  sorrow,  and  some  that  weep; 
Some  that  pine  in  solitude, 
Some  that  revel  in  boist'rous  mood. 
So  the  undercurrents  glide, 
Rippling  life's  still  tide  ! 


St. 

To  the  beautiful  city  that  nestles 

At  the  foot  of  the  purple  hills, 
Where  the  flowers  like  whispering  spirits, 

All  the  quietude  softly  fills; 
I  oft  turn  to  the  solacing  shelter, 

For  a  respite  from  crowding  care, 
From  the  world  and  its  dizzying  tumult, 

To  the  calm  of  this  passive  air. 


42 


In  the  mansions  of  costliest  marble, 

That  are  marvels  of  sculptured  art, 
There  are  names  o'er  the  portals  encarven, 

That  are  dear  to  my  burdened  heart. 
But  no  welcome  greeting  is  wafted 

Through  the  portals  of  polished  stone; 
There  is  naught  but  the  winds  as  they  nutter 

O'er  my  face  in  a  plaintive  moan. 

Is  it  fancy  ?  or  does  the  wind  kiss  me, 

As  it  mournfully  passes  by  ? 
Do  their  voices  float  out  in  its  whispers, 

With  the  wings  of  a  living  sigh  ? 
Do  they  send  this  soft  calm  of  such  sweetness 

To  my  world-weary,  tortured  breast, 
As  it  passes  in  magical  healing, 

In  a  wave  of  exquisite  rest  ? 

As  I  mingle  again  in  the  bustle 

Of  the  worrying  world  close  by, 
I  am  full  of  a  passionate  yearning 

In  the  home  of  my  youth  to  die. 
In  this  beautiful  city,  St.  Mary's, 

On  a  sunny  and  cloudless  day, 
On  the  hillside  beneath  the  warm  sunshine, 

'Tis  my  wish  to  be  laid  away. 


Ube  proposal 

Ah,  well  do  I  remember 

Our  stroll  by  the  stream,  my  dear. 
That  evening  in  September, 

The  happiest  of  the  year  ! 


While  in  the  moonlight  straying, 
And  watching  the  wavelets  dance, 

Some  idle  whispered  saying 

Made  both  of  us  upward  glance. 

When  each  caught  a  secret  rushing 
From  out  of  the  other's  eyes, 

Both  stood  confused  and  flushing 
In  glad  and  amazed  surprise. 

You  softly  whispered  ' '  Darling  ! ' ' 
And  folded  me  to  your  breast. 

I  flew  as  flies  a  starling 
Into  its  beloved  nest  ! 

Your  face  aglow  with  love-light, 

Was  radiant  in  its  bliss, 
As  in  the  silv'ry  moonlight 

You  gave  me  your  first  sweet  kiss. 

That  instant  life  grew  dearer, 

More  precious  than  mines  of  gold  ! 

We  both  felt  Heaven  nearer, 

That  night  when  our  love  was  told  ! 

Ah,  me  !  the  years  are  flitting 
I/)w  down  in  the  western  sky, 

I  wonder  o'er  my  knitting 

If  backward  your  thoughts  will  fly, 

Like  mine,  to  oft  remember 

The  stream  and  the  night,  my  dear, 
And  bless  that  far  September, 

The  happiest  of  the  year  ? 


44 

Ube  Blue  anfc 

DECORATION    DAY,  1891 

Two  clover-strewn  mounds  in  a  graveyard  lie 
'  Neath  a  stone  that  tells  to  the  passer  by, 
Two  brothers  are  resting  there  side  by  side, 
In  the  first  full  flush  of  their  manhood's  pride. 

Together  they  lie  in  a  peaceful  rest, 
With  a  sabre  wound  in  each  faithful  breast  ; 
But  one  wears  the  blue,  and  his  cruel  scars 
Are  beneath  the  folds  of  the  stripes  and  stars. 

The  other  is  tenderly  laid  away 

In  a  worn  Confederate  suit  of  gray. 

Together  opposed  in  the  battle's  gore, 

In  the  arms  of  death  they're  at  peace  once  more. 

Bombarding  has  ceased  and  the  clouds  are  passed, 
That  the  belching  cannon  and  mortars  cast. 
Together  in  peace  side  by  side  they  lie, 
With  their  faces  turned  to  the  calm,  blue  sky. 

One  mother  loved  both,  but  oh,  who  dare  say 
That  she  loved  him  least  who  had  died  in  gray  ? 
Each  felt  he  was  right, — they  were  both  so  brave, 
And  they  lie  at  rest  in  a  soldier's  grave. 

Espousing  the  cause  that  his  heart  thought  right, 
Could  she  love  him  least  who  had  lost  the  fight  ? 
Was  one  to  her  dearer  ?     Ah,  who  can  say, 
As  her  hot  tears  fall  o'er  the  blue  and  gray  ! 

The  trenches  that  reeked  with  their  riddled  prize, 
Have  been  smoothed  away  from  our  sickened  eyes, 
And  little  is  left  but  the  mem'ry  now, 
And  the  pledge  redeemed  by  the  soldier's  vow. 


45 

Their  memory  floats  from  the  grief-rent  years, 
And  in  glory  shines  through  the  mist  of  tears. 
Their  spirits  released  from  the  azured  sphere, 
In  the  cloud  waves  float  till  they  seem  quite  near  ; 

In  shadows  that  startle  and  shrink  away 
O'er  the  lonely  graves  where  we  bend  to-day, 
Where  garlands  are  laid  on  the  soldier's  grave, 
And  our  flowers  strewn  o'er  the  nation's  brave. 

A  union  of  love  shall  be  sung  to-day 
As  our  blossoms  blend  o'er  the  blue  and  gray  ; 
The  message  of  love  on  their  fragrant  breath 
Shall  in  whispers  steal  through  the  mold  of  death. 

The  sanctified  incense  they  gently  bear, 

Shall  enwrap  the  dead  in  a  hallowed  pray'r, 

Recorded  on  high  by  the  angel's  pen, 

While  the  blue  and  the  gray  sing  a  grand  '  'Amen  ! ' 

In  pity  and  love  let  us  breathe  a  sigh 
For  the  nameless  graves  'neaththe  southern  sky; 
Their  loneliness  thrills  through  our  hearts  to-day 
As  we  deck  the  graves  of  the  blue  and  gray. 

The  blue  and  gray  that  forgotten  lie 
With  their  faces  turned  to  a  foreign  sky  ; 
A  pitying  tear  for  the  noble  brave 
In  Confederate  trench  and  in  Union  grave. 

Rest,  rest  there  in  peace  !  all  ye  martyred  slain, 
Undisturbed  by  the  phantoms  of  hate  and  pain  ; 
Grim  spectres  that  slunk  from  the  battle's  roar 
To  the  dismal  shades  of  Plutonia's  shore. 

Together  ye  fell  'neath  the  battle's  pall, 
And  together  still  shall  our  blossoms  fall. 
All  hatreds  have  died  with  the  cannon's  breath, 
And  the  pledge  of  peace  is  the  dove  of  Death. 


46 


One  mother  loves  both,  and  oh,  who  shall  say 
She  must  love  him  least  who  has  died  in  gray  ? 
To-day,  o'er  their  graves  as  her  hot  tears  fall, 
Must  she  love  him  least  who  has  lost  his  all  ? 

Nay,  nay  !  who  can  sound  with  the  subtlest  art 
To  the  deepest  depths  of  a  mother's  heart, 
While  loving  the  blue  is  there  one  dare  say 
She  could  turn  from  him  in  his  suit  of  gray  ? 

Together  they  crossed  in  the  lurid  air 
To  the  realm  of  death,  by  the  bat'ry's  glare  ; 
And  there  our  grand  army  of  noble  dead 
Are  awaiting  us  with  their  bivouac  spread. 


ZUMeu— '"So  <Bo&" 

TO  MISS  JOSIE  WOODWARD 

' '  A-dieu  !  "     A  wave  of  mournful  sadness 

Floats  out  in  the  wailing  knell, 
But  cleaves  a  rift  of  holy  gladness, 

To  brighten  its  sombre  spell. 
"  To  God!     To  God  ! "  in  full  completeness, 

We  pledge  thee  in  soft  "A-dieu  !  " 
"  Adieu  !    Adieu  !  " — Oh,  balm  of  sweetness, 

Distilled  from  the  dregs  of  rue  ! 

"  To  God  !     To  God  !  "     The  bitter  parting 

Is  soothed  by  the  sweet  refrain; 
And  breaking  hearts  with  anguish  smarting 

Can  smile  through  their  tears  of  pain; 
And  gazing  upward  see  the  glory 

That  shines  through  the  cloud  of  tears, 
Where  sun- wrapped  angels  weave  life's  story, 

A  crown  for  the  coming  years. 


47 


Oh  tender  word,  so  fraught  with  sorrow, 

With  passionate  tears  and  sighs, 
Yet  sweetest  word  that  friend  can  borrow, 

And  murmur  with  tear-dimmed  eyes  ! 
Adieu  !     Adieu  !     May  naught  ere  sever 

The  prayer  that  it  breathes  for  you. 
To  God  !     To  God  !  "     Forever,  ever, 

Floats  out  with  my  last  Adieu  ! 


ZTo  jflorence 

Little  maid  !     little  maid  ! 

Thou'rt  fair  as  a  morning  in  May; 
A  rosebud  by  Phoebus  caressed, 

Unfolding  thy  heart  to  his  ray. 
Thou'rt  fresh  as  the  down  on  the  breast 

Of  lilies  at  opening  of  day; 
Thy  presence  is  fragrant  with  love. 
As  winsome  and  true  as  a  dove. 

Little  maid  !     Little  maid  ! 

Thy  soul  through  thy  delicate  face, 
Shines  out  with  an  exquisite  glow, 

Like  flame  through  a  Parian  vase, 
As  purity's  thoughts  from  it  flow 

In  flashes  of  luminant  grace. 
Impassioned  and  dark  are  thine  eyes, 
Yet  pure  as  the  violet's  sighs. 

Little  maid  !     Little  maid  ! 

'Tis  not  in  thine  hair  nor  thine  eyes, 
The  secret  of  power  we  find; 

The  charm  of  thy  loveliness  lies 


48 


In  all  of  thy  graces  of  mind, 

And  beams  from  thy  innocent  eyes 
In  artless  enamoring  youth, 
Distilling  the  perfume  of  truth. 

little  maid  !     Little  maid  ! 

No  lily  bells  sparkling  with  dew, 
And  trembling  with  kisses  of  night, 

Are  sweeter  or  fairer  than  you. 
Sweet  rosebud  !     Unfolding  in  light, 

In  promising  loveliness  too  ! 
The  beauties  the  rosebud  enclose, 
Shall  beam  from  the  heart  of  the  rose  ! 


2>unce 

a  bud  on  a  broken  stem, 

A  little  maiden  sat, 
While  she  studied  the  ragged  hem 

Around  the  carpet  mat. 
For  the  proud  little  eyelids  fell 

Before  the  smiling  school, 
And  she  dared  not  look  up  at  Nell, 

From  off  the  dunce's  stool. 

For  bright  Nell  was  a  despot  stern, 

And  flashed  an  angry  flame 
On  the  sister  that  would  not  learn, 

But  sat  in  silent  shame. 
For  'twas  very  vexatious  that 

Of  all  within  that  school, 
It  was  she  who  the  oftenest  sat 

Upon  the  dunce's  stool. 


49 


But  this  maid  of  the  downcast  eyes 

Was  winsome,  good  and  true, 
And  the  mortified  tears  would  rise 

In  spite  of  all  she'd  do; 
And  she  wished  with  a  yearning  heart, 

To  master  text  and  rule, 
For  she  longed  to  be  wise  and  smart, 

And  loathed  the  dunce's  stool. 

O'er  her  studies  she  sat  perplext, 

For  through  them  all  there' d  be 
The  refrain  of  the  song  bird's  text, 

Their  "Trala/a,  la//?." 
And  her  lessons  would  always  run 

Into  a  rippling  trill, 
Like  the  birds  of  the  forest  spun, 

Absorbing  all  her  will. 

But  she  gazed  in  admiring  pause 

Upon  her  sister  Nell, 
Who  could  talk  of  the  Solon  laws, 

And  how  the  empire  fell, 
And  recite  with  a  scholar's  tact, 

The  way  the  world  began, 
Not  forgetting  the  smallest  fact 

Back  to  the  fall  of  man. 

"  Oh,  I  wish  I  was  smart  like  Nell !  " 

She  often,  often  sighed; 
Then  her  head  in  despondence  fell, 

The  while  she  sobbed  and  cried. 
Then  her  books  all  aside  she'd  throw, 

In  tearful  heedless  ease, 
And  in  glowing  defiance,  go 

To  seek  the  shady  trees, — 


50 


To  the  woods  where  the  maples  grew 

In  neighborly  content; 
Where  the  birds  through  the  branches  flew 

In  greetings  exultant. 
She  would  answer  each  warbler's  song 

In  playful  mimicry, 
And  she  learned  of  the  forest  throng, 

Sweet  nature's  symphony. 

She  would  call  to  the  lark  and  thrush, 

So  perfectly  and  clear, 
They  responded  from  out  the  brush, 

And  hastened  to  draw  near. 
They  would  answer  each  perfect  note, 

lyike  little  feathered  elves, 
As  though  she,  of  the  snowy  throat, 

Was  bird,  just  like  themselves  ! 

She  could  study  the  mocking  bird 

And  learn  its  varied  trill, 
And  the  tremolos  softly  heard 

In  plaintive  whip-poor-will. 
For  the  forest  birds'  symphonies 

Were  lessons  she  loved  full  well, 
And  the  text  from  the  maple  trees 

Oft  startled  sober  Nell. 

But  the  years  set  the  captives  free, 

And  broke  the  routine  spell; 
All  the  honors  of  high  degree 

Were  won  by  honest  Nell. 
But  no  mention  nor  parchment  prize 

The  little  maiden  won, 
Tho'  she  laughed  in  glad  surprise, 

To  think  that  school  was  done. 


51 


All  the  marvelous  gems  of  thought 

To  mark  her  brilliancy, 
Were  the  gems  from  the  forest  brought,- 

Her  "  Tra  la  la,  la  le  !  " 
And  she  poured  out  her  heart  in  song, 

Just  like  a  bird  set  free, 
And  the  echo  was  borne  along, 

Awak'ning  Destiny  ! 

Till  the  voice  of  her  genius  flew 

Upon  the  waves  of  time, 
And  the  homage  of  nations  drew 

To  hear  her  tones  sublime. 
And  the  text  of  the  feathered  tribe 

From  out  the  maple  trees, 
Was  the  text  she  did  transcribe, 

And  waft  across  the  seas. 

Of  the  class  that  was  scattered  far 

Through  cities,  seas  and  town, 
There  rose  but  a  single  star 

Of  luminous  renown. 
And  the  strangest  of  all  is  that 

The  glory  of  that  school 
Was  the  scholar  who  oftenest  sat 

Upon  the  dunce's  stool. 


Xouise  (Soiifl) 

I  know  thy  heart  is  mine  alone, 
For  love  speaks  forth  in  every  tone. 
The  swiftly  rising  flush  I  see, 
That  tells  a  message  dear  to  me. 


52 


Oh,  who  would  think  such  haughty  pride 
Within  that  gentle  soul  could  hide  ? 
I  thought  thy  words  but  meant  to  tease, 
Nor  wronged  thee  with  a  doubt,  Louise  ! 
In  pain  I  hear  the  mournful  knell, 
That  bids  to  love  and  thee — farewell ! 

Louise  !  Louise  !  why  grieve  me  so  ? 
And  crush  my  heart  in  bitter  woe  ! 
My  every  thought  is  but  for  thee, 
Louise,  so  false  to  love  and  me  ! 

I  know  that  in  the  scenes  so  gay 
Some  mem'ries  from  the  past  will  stray; 
Perchance  regretful  thoughts  arise, 
And  tears  bedim  thy  lustrous  eyes. 
Such  moments  may  to  thee  be  rife 
With  pity  for  the  shattered  life, 
So  coldly  crushed  with  treach'rous  ease 
By  thee,  my  loved,  my  lost  Louise  ! 
A  broken  life  for  ever  more, — 
An  empty  shell  upon  the  shore ! 


Do  IRot  jfret 

'  Tis  a  very  good  rule,  my  man, 
As  the  path  of  your  duty's  trod, 
That  you  labor  the  best  you  can, 
And  then  leave  all  the  rest  to  God  ! 
It  is  useless  to  fume  and  fret, 
And  be  gnawed  by  a  vain  regret, 
Till  it  spoils  like^a  hungry  moth, 
The  fine  web  of  your  life's  best  cloth. 
Do  the  best  you  can,  my  man, 
And  do  not  fret. 


53 


You  can  dig  up  the  soil  and  plow 

By  the  sweat  of  your  earnest  brow  ; 

You  can  harrow  and  plant  and  sow, 

But  you  never  can  make  it  grow. 

From  the  promise  within  the  seed, 

You  may  reap  but  an  ugly  weed  ; 

Yet  you  labored  the  best,  my  man,  you  can, 

And  must  not  fret. 

You  must  labor  your  very  best, 

Then  with  God  you  may  leave  the  rest  ; 

He  will  prosper  the  toiler's  art, 

And  the  work  of  a  willing  heart. 

When  you  sow  all  your  daily  deeds, 

As  a  farmer  sows  his  seeds, 

In  the  very  best  way  you  can,  my  man, 

You  need  not  fret  ! 


pretty  IRell 

As  I  went  through  the  dell, 

One  morning  last  May, 
There  I  met  a  fair  belle 

A-walking  my  way. 
And  we  talked  as  we  walked, 

Half  earnest,  half  gay, 
As  we  went  through  the  dell, 

One  morning  in  May. 

Oh,  the  birds  from  each  tree, 
Were  pouring  their  song  ! 

And  we  noted  their  glee, 
While  walking  along. 


54 

Till  I  chose  to  propose — 
Ah,  sure  was  it  wrong  ? — 

And  she  answered  to  me 
A  syllable  song  ! 

Just  a  word,  in  the  dell, 

One  glorious  day, 
From  the  beautiful  belle 

A-walking  my  way  ! 
Oh,  the  bliss  of  that  kiss 

Shall  ne'er  die  away, 
When  I  won  pretty  Nell, 

That  morning  in  May. 

Just  a  word,  that  I  heard, 
That  morning  in  May, 

From  my  Nell,  in  the  dell, 
A-walking  my  way  ! 


HccountinQ 

There  lived,  not  many  years  ago, 
A  poet  who  would  not  be  "  slow.  " 

His  songs  were  many, — ev'ry  one 
To  love  and  passion  gave  a  tongue. 

He  sought  to  carve  himself  a  name; 
His  heart,  his  soul,  he  gave  to  fame. 

'Twas  not  in  vain;  she  crowned  him  king, 
And  o'er  the  earth  his  praises  ring. 

The  poet  died, — to  reck'ning  called, 
Before  his  judge  he  stood  appalled. 

No  praises  then;  no  loving  word; 
But  questions  stern  the  poet  heard: 


55 


"  I  gave  thee  genius !     Can'st  recall 
Some  good  thou  didst  for  great  or  small  ? 

"  One  soul  that's  saved  ;  one  heart  made  pure  ; 
One  weakling  strengthened  to  endure  ? 

"  Much  chance  thou  had'st.     Come,  tell  me  now 
Which  piece  has  saved  a  soul, — and  how  ? 

' '  Thou  dost  not  answer, — how  is  this  ? 
No  piece  of  thine  has  caused  such  bliss ! 

"  Among  the  lost  thou' It  take  thy  place, 
Didst  not  a  thousand  souls  find  grace 

' '  In  written  book  or  song  of  thine, 
That  'mongst  the  sons  of  men  did  shine. 

' '  A  thousand  souls  all  hope  have  lost 
Through  works  of  thine, — a  fearful  cost ! 

' '  Thy  smoothly  flowing  words  a  crust, 
Beneath  which  hid  the  demon — lust ! 

' '  A  thousand  souls  thou  must  regain, 
Or  get  thee  hence  with  demon  train  !  " 

"  Have  mercy,  thou  !  "     the  poet  cried, 
' '  For  fame  I  worked ,  for  praise  I  tried  ; 

"  The  sons  of  men  they  gave  me  both, 
To  censure  them  I  now  am  loth. 

"  They  told  me  as  I  mounted  high'r, 
My  pen  was  dipped  in  heav'nly  fire  !  " 

' '  Ah,  sinful  hearts,  they  knew  full  well 
Thy  pen  was  dipped  in  fire  of  hell ! 

"  'Tis  justice  now,  no  mercy  pray  ; 
Begone  !     With  imps  and  lustful  stay  ! ' ' 


56 


Oh,  love  doth  wield  a  magic  power, 
Surpassing  every  art ! 
All  would  know  it, 
All  would  feel  it, 
Though  striving  to  conceal  it  ! 
Each  claimant  deems  the  dower 
The  birthright  of  his  heart ! 

'Tis  all  that  life  holds  worth  the  living  ; 
'Tis  all  that 's  held  in  death  ;— 
Life's  best  pleasure, 
Death's  best  measure, 
The  saint  and  sinner's  treasure  ; 
The  recompense  worth  giving 
For  mortal's  transient  breath  ! 


fortune 

'"  Tell  me  my  fortune,  please  !  " 

Said  a  pretty  maid  to  me, 
Under  the  walnut  trees, 

As  we  idled  lazily; 

Stretching  a  hand  both  slender  and  fair, 
That  I  might  read  what  was  written  there. 

"  Fate  has  been  good  and  kind, 

And  a  choice  has  given  thee. 
Listen  with  all  thy  mind, 

As  she  pictures  them  to  me  ! ' ' 
Deeply  I  gazed  with  studious  art, 
In  palm  as  pink  as  the  sea  shell's  heart. 


57 


"  Here  is  a  mansion  grand 

In  a  land  beside  the  sea, 
Proud  in  its  queenly  stand 
As  a  carved  Euphrosyne. 
Sweet  is  the  breath  of  odorous  air, 
That  rushes  up  o'er  the  marble  stair. 

"  Love  has  no  dwelling  place 
In  this  palace  by  the  sea; 
Gazing  with  shadowed  face, 

Two  sad  eyes  look  out  at  me. 
Frowningly  gleam,  like  prisoner's  bars, 
The  white  facades  and  the  sculptured  stars. 

"  Buried  beneath  a  smile, 

Lie  the  ashes  of  a  heart, 
Wond'ring  the  weary  while 

How  it  plays  its  empty  part. 
Mirrored  in  all  so  beautiful  there, 
I  see  the  tears  that  her  lashes  wear. 

"  Here  is  a  cottage  plain, 

Where  the  clamb'ring  roses  cling, 
Shaking  their  perfumed  rain 

From  each  flying  petaled  wing. 
In  the,  old  oaks  the  robins  are  heard 
So  loud,  each  leaf  seems  a  twitt'ring  bird. 

"  Sweet  as  the  scented  air 

That  is  whispering  Cupid's  lore, 
Stands  a  young  matron  fair 
At  the  open  cottage  door, 
Watching  a  form  whose  hurrying  pace 
Brings  love's  soft  light  to  the  watching  face. 

"  Two  little  eyes  await, 

With  impatient  eagerness, 


58 

Down  by  the  garden  gate, 

For  the  evening's  fond  caress. 
Over  the  path  they  beckon  and  call, 
And  love's  sweet  happiness  shelters  all. 

"  Fortune  has  traced  for  me, 

In  thy  penciled  palm  so  true, 
Shapes  of  thy  destiny 

That  are  in  thy  fortunes  two." 
Pressing  the  hand  that  lay  in  mine,  — 
'  '  Now  tell  which  one  wilt  thou  choose  for  thine  ? 

Into  the  eyes  of  blue, 

Stole  a  shade  of  deep  unrest; 
Up  from  the  heart  so  true, 
Soared  the  whisper,  "  L,ove  is  best  !  " 
Smiling,  she  said  with  face  all  aglow  — 
"I'm  glad  that  my  fortune  was  told  me  so." 


Memories 

A  myriad  host  from  their  chamber  barred, 
Defyingly  rush  past  their  startled  guard, 
Aroused  by  the  voice  of  a  buried  theme, 
Or  woke  by  a  hand  from  a  broken  dream; 
They  come  in  the  night  of  our  loneliness, 
With  curses  that  scorch  or  with  smiles  that  bless. 

The  touch  of  a  hand  that  is  cold  and  still, 
Has  power  to  rouse  a  responsive  thrill. 
An  innocent  smile,  or  a  saddened  tear, 
Will  call  up  a  joy  or  a  shadowed  fear, 
And  in  the  still  watch  of  a  night  alone 
We  linger  with  forms  to  the  world  unknown. 


59 

The  passionate  kiss  of  a  love  once  known, 
In  memory  lives  when  the  love  has  flown. 
Though  whispering  a  bliss,  or  a  moaned  regret, 
Once  touched  by  its  breath,  we  can  ne'er  forget; 
And  whether  it  be  for  our  woe  or  weal, 
That  kiss  shall  forever  be  mem'ry's  seal. 

We  dwell  with  the  loves  of  a  bygone  past, 
Perchance  by  the  clouds  of  a  hate  o'ercast, 
Yet  who  would  refuse  the  resplendent  dyes, 
That  flash  from  the  depths  of  mem'ry's  eyes  ? 
Or  barter  the  joys  of  a  vanished  tone, 
That  memory  whispers  to  us  alone  ? 


1bsmn  to  St.  Josepb 

Oh,  blessed  St.  Joseph  ! 

Kind  patron  of  youth, 
And  pattern  paternal 

Of  wisdom  and  truth, 
We  humbly  beseech  thee, 

Look  tenderly  down, 
And  bless  with  thy  favor 

This  amaranth  crown. 

Thou  chosen  of  David, 

Whose  blossoming  rod 
Miraculous  proved  thee 

Predestined  of  God  ; 
Our  lady's  protector 

And  virginal  spouse, 
Pure  guardian  trusted 

With  purity's  vows. 


60 

The  Bethlehem's  manger 

Thy  gentle  hands  pressed, 
And  fashioned  the  Saviour 

A  cradle  of  rest. 
LtOw  brushed  in  thy  worship 

By  angel's  soft  wings, 
More  blessed  than  the  angels, 

More  favored  than  kings. 

Wise  refuge  that  guided 

From  treachery's  blight, 
The  babe  and  its  mother 

Through  Egypt's  sad  flight. 
Most  favored  of  parents  ! 

By  Heaven's  decree 
A  God  in  subjection, 

Relying  on  thee  ! 

Thrice  blest  thy  commission 

Of  teacher  most  mild, 
Adoring  instructor 

Of  Israel's  child ! 
Thy  name  shall  forever 

With  Mary's  entwine, 
And  blend  with  the  splendor 

Of  Jesus  divine  ! 

Oh,  teach  us  to  worship 

The  Saviour  divine, 
With  tender  devotion 

As  faithful  as  thine  ! 
lyike  thee  may  we  pillow 

Our  head  on  his  breast, 
Life's  mission  completed, 

Dissolving  in  rest  ! 


61 

failure 

Disheartened  soul,  arise  !  Why  grievest  thou  ? 

Miscarried  schemes  and  plans,  so  fraught  with  woe, 

Serve  purposes  that  God  alone  doth  know. 

A  hidden  strength  rests  on  thy  smited  brow; 

Then  swift  respond,  nor  weakly  falter  now. 

To  cease  all  struggle  in  despairing  throe, 

Is  to  relinquish  God,  thy  crown  forego  ! 

Up  !   Up,  brave  heart,  and  though  afflictions  bow 

Thy  soul  unto  the  dust,  endure  for  this  ! 

Despair  thou  not  with  sacrilegious  thought, 

Because  thy  heart's  ambitions  go  amiss. 

Each  battled  failure  shines  a  brilliant  gem 

Within  the  crucible  of  suffering  wrought, 

Bach  needful  for  the  victor's  diadem. 


3fattb  is  JSest 

Ah,  there's  much  we'd  like  to  know 
Of  things  beyond  our  learning, 

How  we  came,  and  whence  we  go, 
And  shall  there  be  returning  ? 

Shall  we  meet  loved  friends  at  last — 

When  death  is  past  ? 

There  are  sages  wise,  deployed, 

To  prove  the  Bible  story 
But  a  myth  to  be  destroyed, 

And  offer  us  the  history 
Of  the  ' '  evolution  ' '  cry, 
To  faith  supply  ! 

Thus  they  sweep  old  truths  away 
And  modern  fancies  give  us, 


62 


While  they  take  our  prop  and  stay, 

All  weak  and  helpless  leave  us 
In  the  shoreless  sea  of  doubt, 
To  float  about ! 

'  Tis  unwise  to  doubt  and  fear, 
To  search  in  useless  seeking  ! 

L,et's  believe  the  word  we've  here, 
Our  vain  endeavor  ceasing. 

It  brings  naught  but  dire  unrest ! 

Ah,  faith  is  best ! 


ant>  3 

We  loved  each  other,  my  love  and  I, 
In  greeting  smiles  and  the  parting  sigh. 
We  watched  the  days  drag  slowly  by, 
And  eagerly  watched  for  the  wonderful  one, 
Whose  magical  hours  would  merrily  run 
Beneath  a  never  setting  sun. 

Oh,  happy  we,  when  it  came  at  last, 

And  Hymen's  chain  bound  us  close  and  fast ! 

We  kissed  the  fetters  round  us  cast, 

And  vowed  we  would  rather  be  bonded  than  free. 

I  was  his,  he  lived  but  for  me, 

Oh,  chain  of  sweetest  slavery  ! 

Our  days  ran  on  in  the  golden  light, 

And  every  one  was  serene  and  bright, 

From  months  to  years  unclouded  quite, 

Until  we  grew  tired, — then  our  world  seemed  so 

small — 

How  could  we  have  thought  'twas  happy  at  all  ? 
Oh,  bitter  chain  then  steeped  in  gall  ! 


63 


We  grew  tired  of  days  that  were  dull  and  gray, 

That  came  and  went  in  the  self  same  way, 

And  left  us  naught  to  tell  or  say. 

We  grew  tired  of  each  other  and  flew  from  our  nest; 

Society's  hands  we  clasped  and  carest, — 

Through  merry  pathways  gaily  prest, — 

Until  one  day  in  the  giddy  whirl, 

Misfortune  came,  like  an  ugly  churl, 

To  round  us  both  his  lash  unfurl. 

We  called  to  our  friends,  but  as  lightning  they  sped. 

Nor  stopped  in  their  flight,  but  onward  they  fled, 

As  if  pursued  by  a  spectre  dread. 

Our  hearts  were  sore  in  their  aching  pain, 
And  life  was  drenched  in  a  bitter  rain, 
My  love  and  I  alone  again; 
Together  alone  in  that  terrible  hour, 
We  bravely  endured  the  pitiless  show'r, 
And  love  resumed  its  glowing  pow'r. 

We  homeward  turned  to  our  cosy  nest, 

And  never  yearned  for  the  truant  guest, 

But  dearly  prized  its  tranquil  rest. 

Oh,  warm  are  our  hearts,  and  contented  are  we  ! 

The  furnace  of  pain  all  our  follies  set  free, 

And  closer  bound  my  love  to  me. 


64 

H  Bell 

There's  a  bell  in  heaven  rings, 
In  the  twilight,  soft  and  gray; 

To  and  fro  it  gently  swings, 
As  the  daylight  fades  away. 

From  its  heart  sweet  music  rolls, 

As  it  softly  swings  and  tolls. 

We  can  hear  the  wondrous  rhymes 

Of  the  twilight's  floating  chimes. 

In  the  rythmed  spell 

Of  the  twilight  bell. 

If  we  banish  from  our  heart 
All  the  hatred,  grief  and  strife, 

And  the  wicked  passions  part 
From  the  pulses  of  our  life, 

For  it  cannot  enter  in 

To  a  heart,  defiled  with  sin. 

So  we  hearken  oft  in  vain, 

For  the  legend's  mystic  strain 

In  the  swaying  swell 

Of  the  angel's  bell. 


Xe0eno  of  tbe  flDoss  IRose 

In  the  shade  of  a  lovely  rose 
An  angel  stopped  to  rest, 

As  he  sank  in  a  sweet  repose, 
His  wings  about  him  pressed. 

All  the  buds  and  the  roses  bent 
To  shade  his  sleeping  eyes, 

And  their  odorous  hearts  were  blent 
In  sweet  perfuming  sighs. 


65 


When  the  beautiful  sleeper  woke, 

He  blessed  the  blooming  tree. 
"  For  the  shade,"  thus  the  angel  spoke, 
"  And  fragrance  shed  o'er  me, 

u  I  will  grant  thee  a  gift,  fair  tree, 

To  bless  the  love  thou'st  shown  ! " 
And  it  cried,  "  Let  thy  gift  then  be 
A  charm  no  rose  has  known  !  " 

But  he  stood  at  a  seeming  loss 
For  something  strange  and  new, 

Till  espying  some  lovely  moss, 
All  moist  with  trembling  dew. 

So  he  gathered  the  lovely  green, 
And  closely  round  them  pressed. 

And  the  fairest  of  roses  seen 
Is  that  by  the  angel  dressed. 


H  1Rain£ 

Oh,  the  dreary,  dreary  sway 
Of  a  weary  rainy  day  ! 
Ivike  a  fun'ral  sad  and  slow, 
All  its  mournful  hours  go. 
While  a  creepy  sadness  sits, 
And  beside  us  closely  flits, 
Till  our  spirit  broods  and  grieves 
With  the  symphony  it  weaves 
On  a  rainy  day. 

Through  the  veil  of  falling  rain, 
As  it  raps  the  window  pane, 
There's  a  tall  denuded  tree, 
And  it  seems  to  nod  to  me, 


66 


As  it  shakes  the  stormy  drops 
From  its  branches'  polished  tops. 
'  Tis  a  skeleton  that  moans, 
As  it  waves  its  naked  bones 
On  this  rainy  day. 

Oh,  the  dreary,  dreary  sway 
Of  a  weary  rainy  day  ! 
When  we  count  its  minor  strain 
By  the  beating  of  the  rain. 
But  the  rain  must  quicken  all, 
Over  every  heart  must  fall, 
Till  it  blossoms  forth  again 
From  the  loneliness  and  pain 
Of  a  rainy  day. 


Divorces 

My  life  in  its  radiant  beauty 

Has  been  struck  by  the  blighter's  hand: 
The  plague-laden  demon  who  scatters 

Its  poisonous  germs  o'er  the  land. 
'Tis  stalking  about  like  a  monster, 

To  revel  in  fiendish  glee  ; 
Through  surfeit  of  ghoulish  feasting, 

Exulting  new  horrors  to  see. 

Draw  closer,  my  babies,  around  me  ! 

Let  me  feel  thy  pure  breaths  on  my  brow. 
Oh,  darlings,  my  darlings,  enfold  me, 

Thy  presence  shall  strengthen  me  now  ! 
Alas,  I  am  weak,  and  so  helpless 

To  keep  the  gaunt  wolf  from  the  door, 
Oh,  my  darlings,  my  babies,  now  help  me, 

And  bring  comfort  in  sweet  baby  lore. 


67 


No  father  to  care  for  thee,  babies, 

With  a  love  that  is  tender  and  strong  ! 
No  father  to  guide  thy  young  footsteps, 

And  save  thee  from  sin  and  from  wrong  ! 
Alone  ye  are  left  in  your  childhood 

To  battle  with  want  and  disgrace  ; 
Of  thy  birthright  despoiled  and  defrauded, 

For  the  smiles  of  a  beautiful  face. 

A  pitiless  Circe  has  won  him, 

And  bewitched  with  her  passionate  song ; 
His  promise,  his  vows  are  all  broken, 

I  thought  so  enduring  and  strong. 
Ah,  surely,  remorse  must  o'er  take  him, 

When  idly  he  muses  alone  ! 
A  vision  from  the  past  must  affront  him 

From  the  ashes  of  our  ruined  home  ! 

Oh,  dark  is  the  future  before  me, 

That  was  once  so  resplendent  with  light  ! 
And  blindly  I  grope  in  the  darkness, 

My  daylight  eclipsed  into  night. 
My  darlings,  my  babies,  come  closer, 

And  save  me  from  death  and  despair  ! 
With  thy  innocent  faces  around  me, 

O'er  my  soul  comes  the  calmness  of  prayer 


!  Bsfe  flDe  mot 

No  !  ask  me  not  to  join  the  gay  and  happy  throng  ; 

The  darker  hours  of  solitude  more  fitting  are 

For  one  whose  ears  are  sadly  tuned  to  grief's  dull  song. 

I  would  not  be  a  death's  head  at  your  feast, 

Nor  tinge  your  joy  with  sorrow's  sombre  hue. 

The  seal  of  pain  upon  my  weary  eyes  is  pressed, — 

I  would  not  cast  its  darkening  gloom  o'er  you  ! 


68 

No  !  bid  me  not  to  drown  my  woe  in  pleasure's  stream, 
Nor  seek  oblivion  'mid  thy  gay  and  joyous  mirth  ! 
lyike  Dead  Sea  air,  my  presence  holds  a  blighting  doom, 
Before  my  chilling  breath  no  flowers  of  joy  have  birth  ; — 
Then  ask  me  not  to  join  thy  gay  and  merry  throng. 
Oh,  leave  me,  'til  the  poisoned  sting  of  sorrow's  spent, — 
A  painful  solace  runs  through  griefs  sad  song  ! 


3fire*!lLigbt  fancies 

I  sit  alone  by  the  fire  to-night, 
And  watch  the  castles  of  glowing  light, 
Watching  the  pictures  come  and  go 
In  the  fire's  ruddy  glow  ; 
Watching  the  shadows  rise  and  fall. 
And  fitfully  flicker  over  the  wall. 
In  the  gleam  of  the  fire-light  bright, 
Bright  dreams  of  the  past  arise  to-night; 

Bright  dreams  that  come  when  my  heart  is  sad, 

With  joyous  visions  to  make  me  glad; 

Dreams  that  will  stay  through  storm  and  strife, 

Silvery  linings  of  my  life; 

Shadows  that  gather,  rise  and  fall, 

Enfolding  my  heart  in  funeral  pall, 

All  flee  from  the  light  of  memory's  dreams, 

And  vanish  beneath  her  silv'ry  beams. 

A  mystic  spell  from  the  glowing  coals, 

Its  magic  fancy  around  me  rolls; 

Shadowy  forms  flit  to  and  fro 

In  the  fire's  illusive  glow; 

Faces  and  forms  of  loved  ones  dear, 

And  shadowy  voices  whispering  near; 


69 

In  the  gleam  of  the  fire-light  bright, 
The  dreams  of  my  youth  return  to-night; 

My  blissful  dreams,  all  too  bright  to  last ! 
My  shattered  dreams  and  hopes  long  past, 
Dead — as  the  fire  that  burned  so  bright; 
Naught  but  ashes  remain  to-night ! 
Shadows  of  midnight  around  me  creep, 
And  gloomy  phantoms  my  vigil  keep. 
Gone  are  castles  of  glowing  light; — 
There's  naught  but  the  ashes  left  to-night. 


ffate 

Dost  weep  because  thy  life  is  lone, 

And  summer  days  are  long  ? 
Because  thy  dreary  pathway  leads 

Away  from  love  and  song  ? 
Dost  sigh  because  unfilled  desires 

Are  burning  out  thy  heart  ? 
Because  thy  brightest,  fondest  dreams 

With  vanished  years  depart  ? 

Before  the  grim,  stern  face  of  fate, 

None  pass  unscathed,  or  free; 
For  sorrow,  pain,  or  gnawing  grief, 

To  each  she  doth  decree. 
The  sweetest  gifts,  the  favored  taste, 

Are  mixed  with  tears  of  brine, 
And  panther  shadows  crouch  and  hide 

Within  the  limpid  wine. 

She  mixes  all  her  sweetest  joys 

At  founts  of  living  pain, 
And  from  the  sky  of  summer's  bliss 

She  sends  the  winter's  rain. 


70 


Then  cease  thy  useless  murmurings, 
And  quench  thy  idle  fears, 

Some  lives  are  doomed  to  loneliness, 
And  some  are  doomed  to  tears ! 


©nip  a 

Only  a  harsh,  and  an  angry  word,  , 
Hastily  uttered  and  painfully  heard, 
Leaving  its  bitter  and  stinging  smart 
In  a  tender  and  loving  heart. 

Only  a  glance  and  a  scornful  frown 
Piercing  the  brain  like  a  thorny  crown, 
Gloomily  nurtured,  till  each  sad  heart 
Slowly  but  surely  drifteth  apart. 

Slowly  but  surely  drift  away, 
Treading  the  path  of  an  unknown  day  ; 
Bitterly  facing  the  blinding  rain, 
Ivife  can  ne'er  be  the  same  again. 

Only  a  word  !  but  the  trusting  heart, 
Quivering,  burns  'neath  the  fiery  dart  ; 
Only  a  frown,  and  the  world  of  pain 
Circles  a  heart  with  its  galling  chain. 

Powerful  Titans,  whose  hateful  art 
Breaketh  the  bonds  of  love  apart  ; 
Stealthily  toiling,  till  day  by  day, 
Hearts  that  have  loved,  are  drifted  away. 

Drifted  away,  in  the  world  of  pain, 
Blossoms  of  love  shall  not  bloom  again  ; 
Drifted  away,  and  the  weary  years 
Drowned  in  a  passion  of  remorseful  tears. 


71 

Ube  Gbristening  of  tbe  flDarecbal  IFiiel  1Rose 

The  sound  of  martial  troopers 

Throughout  the  village  rang, 
And  loud  the  veteran  legions 

Their  song  of  glory  sang. 
The  deadly  war  was  ended, 

And  France  had  stood  the  test, 
Her  warriors  home  returning 

With  vict'ry  on  each  crest. 

As  cheers  and  salutations 

The  smiling  victors  greet, 
The  scars  and  wounds  all  vanish 

On  wings  of  incense  sweet. 
From  out  the  crowd  a  peasant 

Before  the  general  stands, 
And  to  the  noble  hero 

A  floral  basket  hands. 

And  bending  o'er  the  flowers, 

He  hides  the  tears  that  steal, 
As  swells  the  ringing  chorus — 

"  God  bless  our  General  Niel  !  " 
He  saved  from  Flora's  treasures 

One  virgin  budding  gem, 
With  tiny  living  rootlets 

Attached  unto  its  stem. 

With  gentle  care  'twas  nurtured 

And  tended  day  by  day, 
Until  its  bloom  proclaimed  it 

A  queen  by  beauty's  sway. 
'Twas  brought,  this  queen  of  roses, 

To  her  of  women  queen  ; 
She  kissed  the  glowing  petals 

Of  lemon-tinted  sheen. 


72 

It  lay  upon  the  bosom 

Of  France's  noblest  dame, 
Who,  turning,  asked  the  hero 

Her  peerless  rival's  name  ; 
"  'Tis  nameless,  gracious  lady  ; 

The  first  that  Paris  grows  !  " 
"  Then  I  will  be  the  sponsor 

For  this,  thy  foundling  rose  !  " 

And  raising  high  her  jeweled  hand  : 

"  All  hear,  my  vassals  leal, 
This  rose  and  thou  forever, 

Be  known  as  Marechal  Niel  ! ' ' 
Thus  fair  Eugenia  gave  us, 

While  flashed  her  merry  glance, 
The  queen  rose  of  the  roses, 

And  Marechal  Niel  of  France. 


^Longfellow 

Immortal  bard  !     We  hail  thee  as  our  own, 
And  glory  in  the  deathless  gift  of  thine, 
That  placed  thee  'mid  the  chosen  few  divine, 

Who  stand  within  the  circle  of  God's  throne, 

Perpetuating  Heaven's  sweetest  tone. 
That  calmly  grand  majestic  voice  of  thine 
Floats  down  the  years  unbroken,  strong  and  fine, 

Revealing  blessed  visions  thou  hast  known, 

To  bless  and  elevate  the  human  race. 

Thou  did'st  not,  selfish,  in  thy  heart  immure 

Thy  tenderness,  but  gave  with  Christ-like  grace, 
Thy  human  sympathies,  to  raise  and  lure 

All  men  to  lift  to  God  a  reverent  face. 

Thy  faith  shall  make  thy  songs  and  thee  endure. 


73 


IRot  for  Ourselves  alone 

The  strifes  and  toils,  and  burdens  of  life, 

That  we  carry  day  by  day, 
Freighted  with  care,  with  sorrows  rife, 

Through  the  lengthened  weary  way, 
Are  not  for  ourselves  alone. 

Oh,  not  for  self  the  passionate  tears 

In  a  scorching  river  glide, 
Burying  joy  in  waves  of  fears, 

I,ike  a  molten  lava  tide  ; — 

They're  not  for  ourselves  alone. 

The  sighs  and  pray'rs,  and  sacrifice  rent 
On  our  altared  shrines  each  day, — 

Suppliant  words  intensely  sent, 
As  we  humbly  kneel  to  pray, — 
Are  not  for  ourselves  alone. 

The  birds  that  build  the  cosiest  nest, 
While  they,  twitt'ring,  chirp  and  sing, 

Rear  as  they  toil  a  place  of  rest 
For  the  progeny  they  bring, — 
And  not  for  themselves  alone. 

The  flocks  of  sheep  their  covering  fleece 
To  their  masters  gently  yield; 

Under  the  shears  in  patient  peace, 
They  are  meekly  shorn  of  shield, — 
That's  not  for  themselves  alone. 

'  Tis  not  for  self,  the  legions  of  life, 

That  abound  in  earth  and  sea, 
Peopling  the  world  with  busy  strife, 
They  fulfill  the  destiny,— 

That's  not  for  themselves  alone. 


74 


Oh,  not  for  self,  our  wandering  days 
On  this  busy  earth  are  spent. 

Love  through  the  misty  veil  of  haze, 
I/ike  a  Polar  star,  is  sent, — 
But  not  for  ourselves  alone. 


H  jfootstep 

'  Tis  but  a  footstep,  gentle,  firm, 

No  music's  half  so  dear. 
My  heart  responds  with  gladsome  joy 
Whenever  it  draws  near. 

And  when  unto  my  listening  ear 
There  comes  that  welcome  sound, 

The  gath'ring  shadows  flit  away, 
And  sunshine  wraps  me  round. 

Sometimes  when  darkening  thought  will  fill 

My  soul  with  gloom  and  fear, 
No  fate  seems  hard, — no  sorrow  dark, — 

When  I  that  footstep  hear. 

Oh,  dearest  sound  on  earth  to  me, 

My  watching  ears  to  greet, 
My  pulses  throb  responsive  to 

The  music  of  thy  feet  ! 


is  Drifting 

L.ULLABYE  SONG 

Bye-a-bye  !     Lul-la-bye  ! 
Baby  is  drifting  away  ! 
Out  of  the  day-land, 
Into  the  dream-land, 


Baby  is  drifting  away  ! 

On  the  soft  wings  of  mother's  song, 

Baby  is  floating  along, 

Floating  away  from  me, 

Over  the  dream-land  sea  ! 

Hush-a-bye  !     I^ul-la-bye  ! 
Slowly  the  curtain  lids  close, 
Shutting  the  daylight 
Out  from  the  dreamlight, 
Flushed  with  the  tints  of  the  rose  ! 
Drowsily  borne,  by  crooning  low, 
Out  from  the  mother's  arms  go 
Nestling  upon  her  breast, 
Floats  to  the  land  of  rest ! 

Rock-a-bye  !     I^ul-la-bye  ! 
Baby  is  drifting  away  ! 
Out  of  the  child  life, 
Into  the  .real  life, 
Baby  is  drifting  away  ! 
Slowly  the  baby  drifts  along, 
Far  from  the  lullaby  e  song, 
Into  the  land  of  care, 
Mother  love  knows  not  where  ! 

Lul-la-bye  !     L,ul-la-bye  ! 

Baby  is  drifting  away  ! 

Out  of  the  meadows, 

Into  the  shadows, 

Further  from  mother  each  day  ! 

Still  shall  the  song  now  sung  for  thee 

Sweetest  of  memories  be  ! 

Deep  in  thy  heart  shall  lie 

Mother's  soft  lullabye  ! 


76 


Besifce  tbe  Sea 

I  stood  beside  the  Golden  Gate, 

And  gazed  on  the  glistening  waves, 

That  rushed  to  kiss  the  western  sun, 
I,ow  drooped  o'er  their  mystical  caves. 

A  mist  of  tears  bedimmed  my  eyes, 
Renewing  the  pain  in  my  heart; 

I,  too,  had  crossed  the  "  Golden  Gate, ' ' 
And  watched  fond  illusions  depart ; 

Had  rushed  with  hopeful  eagerness, 
As  rush  the  voluptuous  waves, 

To  find  in  the  golden  god's  embrace, 
Fruition  that  vanity  craves. 

In  eager  joyousness  I  laid 
My  life  at  the  radiant  shrine, 

Nor  trembled  when  the  golden  bars 
Shut  out  all  the  love  that  was  mine. 

The  glitt'ring  fetters  round  me  coil, 
Imprisoning  me  closer  each  day, 

And  from  the  burning,  fetid  breath 
I  turn  me  in  loathing  away. 

I  turn,  as  turns  a  soul  that 's  lost, 

From  horrible  visions  aside, 
To  quench  in  tears  of  fierce  despair, 

The  fires  of  ambition  and  pride. 

I  gazed  beyond  the  Golden  Gate, 
Far  out  o'er  the  glistening  sea, 

While  ocean's  requiem  mournfully  fell 
O'er  hopes  that  are  buried  from  me  ! 


77 


Ube 

MONICA  AND  VERONICA 

Two  sunbeams  were  changed  to  angels  of  light, 

And  earthward  descended  together: 
Two  fair  little  maids  as  airy  and  bright 

As  elfins  that  dance  on  the  heather:  . 
Two  fair  little  heads  with  tresses  of  gold, 

Reflecting  an  aureole  splendor; 
Twin  sisters  of  love  from  heaven's  own  fold, 

With  hearts  that  are  loving  and  tender. 

Fair  Monica's  brow  is  earnest  and  grave, 

And  life  is  a  serious  matter; 
Veronica  makes  each  heart  but  a  slave, 

Enchained  by  her  innocent  chatter; 
The  fathomless  depths  of  Monica's  eyes, 

A  studious  wonder  revealing, 
As  if  thro'  her  soul  God's  whispering  flies, 

Its  melody  out  to  us  stealing. 

Veronica's  eyes  are  sparkling  with  glee, 

And  life  is  a  garden  of  pleasure; 
She  sips  all  its  sweets,  a  rollicking  bee, 

Determined  to  have  her  full  measure. 
Ah,  who  can  divine  the  serious  dart, 

That  lies  in  the  azureine  fountains, 
Or  reckon  the  strength  within  the  gay  heart, 

To  carry  her  over  life's  mountains  ? 

Supreme  is  the  sway  of  little  coquette, 

All  hearts  to  her  slavery  bowing, 
And  dearly  beloved  the  serious  pet, 

Her  gentle  dominion  avowing. 
Twin  fairies  of  love,  may  angels  divine 

Preserve  thy  celestial  beauty, 
And  set,  like  a  star,  all  charms  that  are  thine, 

To  shine  o'er  the  pathway  of  duty  ! 


78 


Gbristmas 

Unhappy  ?  No  !  These  tears  ?  Ah,  Reuben  ! 

Do  not  grieve,  tho'  I  pain  you  so  ! 
For  all  day  long  my  fancy's  rambling 

With  the  memories  of  long  ago. 
And  from  their  tomb  I've  drawn  these  relics, 

That  have  lived  through  the  dying  years, 
And,  yes,  the  faded  fabrics  showered 

With  a  foolish  old  woman's  tears  ! 

Ah,  nay,  do  not  look  sad,  my  Reuben  ! 

Though  I  wept,  I  am  happy,  dear, 
For  all  day  long  bright  lyou  and  Walter, 

And  my  golden-haired  Belle,  were  here. 
Perhaps  'tis  only  doting  fancy, 

But  I've  dreamed  that  they  came  to  me  ; 
I  heard  their  old-time  childish  chatter, 

As  they  gathered  around  my  knee. 

You  smile  and  chide  my  rambling  fancies, 

But  your  eyes  have  grown  dimmer,  too, 
And  veil  your  words  of  gentle  chiding 

With  the  mist  of  the  heart's  soft  dew. 
You  truly  say,  all  sombre  dreaming 

Is  unmeet  for  a  night  like  this, 
And  bid  me  turn  in  prayerful  praises 

To  the  thought  of  to-morrow's  bliss. 

When  once  again  the  house  shall  echo 

With  the  voices  of  children  dear, 
Our  aged  hearts  their  youth  renewing 

In  the  joy  of  our  Christmas  cheer. 
Ah,  yes,  I've  much — aye  much — for  praises, 

And  my  heart  is  contented,  too, 
And  true  to  John,  to  Will,  and  Mary, 

And  as  proud  of  them  all  as  you. 


79 


But  bearded  Will  seems  half  a  stranger, — 

I  oft  wonder  can  he  be  mine  ; 
His  high-bred  wife  is  like  a  goddess, 

To  be  worshipped  in  awe  divine. 
And  thoughtful  John,  so  wise  and  honored, 

Is  your  pride  and  your  dearest  joy; 
But  I  can  hardly  trace  a  likeness 

To  the  face  of  my  baby  boy. 

Another  claims  our  daughter  Mary, — 

I'm  not  jealous;  it  should  be  so  ; 
Yet  sadly  miss  the  dear  companion, 

And  devotion  I  used  to  know. 
And  she,  our  tender,  loving  daughter 

Is  a  queen  in  the  halls  of  fame  ; 
Her  kiss  is  warm,  her  heart  is  loyal, 

But  somehow  she  is  not  the  same, 

Ah,  yes,  I'll  laugh  and  beam  to-morrow 

In  the  joys  of  the  Christmas  tide  ! 
My  heart  expand  with  joyous  greetings 

In  the  glow  of  a  mother's  pride. 
But  for  to-day  I'm  dreaming,  Reuben, 

And  the  fancy  will  not  depart ; 
The  children,  dear,  who  died  in  childhood, 

Seem  much  nearer  unto  my  heart. 


Ubree  Xetters 

I. — MARRIAGE 

From  out  the  midst  of  old-time  souvenirs, 

Three  faded  letters  thrilled  me  with  their  touch, 

Conjuring  from  the  vault  of  buried  years, 

A  friend  whom  once  I  loved  and  honored  much. 


80 


The  while  I  traced  her  words  of  tender  grace, 

Methought  I  saw  two  eyes  of  dreamy  gray. — 
Twin  stars  that  beamed  from  out  a  peach-blow  face, 

And  crowned  a  form  like  sculptured  Buterpe. 
Her  letter  burned  with  love's  impassioned  strain, 

Its  time  and  tune  a  merry  rondelay. 
The  dimpling,  flushing  face  untouched  by  pain, 

Arose  in  girlish  beauty,  as  that  day 
When  full  of  joyous  hope  and  rosy  life, 
She  wrote  to  say  that  soon. she'd  be  a  wife. 

II. — DESERTION 

A  few  short  years  !     But  oh,  the  scorching  pain, 

That  swept  o'er  life  its  desolating  blast ! 
A  wailing  dirge  floats  out  its  sad  refrain 

From  every  line  that  chronicles  the  past; 
A  pallid  face  with  tearless,  haunting  eyes, 

Looks  up  at  me  from  out  the  mournful  page, 
With  frozen  lids  upraised  in  wan  surprise, 

By  sorrow's  alchemy  transformed  to  age. 
She  pierced  the  rosy  clouds  that  veiled  her  dreams,— 

Alas,  no  golden  bridgeway  sparkled  there, 
O'er  which  to  reach  Elysium's  promised  streams  ! 

In  emptiness  she  breathed  the  Dead  Sea  air, 
And  crouching  heaped  its  ashes  o'er  her  life 
And  blighted  hopes, — a  sad  deserted  wife  ! 

Ill . — DEATH 

As  when  a  sudden  ringing  in  the  ears 
Suggests  the  toll  of  passing  fun'ral  bell, 

This  bordered  letter  roused  recoiling  fears, 
And  froze  me  with  a  basilisk's  sharp  spell. 


81 

In  unfamiliar  characters  it  spoke, 

And  held  my  heart  in  check  with  icy  breath; 
Its  tone  a  sombre  requiem  awoke, 

That  swept  across  my  soul  with  sighs  of  death. 
My  spirit  gazed  upon  that  girlish  form, 

So  still  and  white  within  its  casket  bed; 
A  smiling  calm  succeeded  life's  rough  storm, 

And  shed  the  old-time  beauty  o'er  the  dead. 
I  dare  not  weep,  nor  wish  thee  back  again; 
'  Twere  sweet  release  when  love  and  hope  are  vain. 


Baster 

"  Our  Christ  is  risen  !  "     List  to  the  singing, 

That  pours  on  the  trembling  air, 
From  Easter  bells  ringing,  joyously  flinging 

Their  harmony  everywhere  ! 
Look  up,  oh,  thou  pale,  sad  face, 

Look  up  from  thy  sin-cursed  doom ! 
A  glory  now  fills  the  place, 

Transforming  the  darkest  tomb  ! 

"  Our  Christ  is  risen  !  "     Easter  bells  pealing, 

All  chime  in  their  floating  song; 
Our  freedom  revealing,  over  us  stealing, 

Are  bearing  our  hearts  along. 
Arise  on  this  Easter  morn  ! 

Exult  in  thy  fetter's  loss  ! 
Arise,  for  new  hope  is  born 

From  out  of  the  Easter  cross  ! 


82 

H  tableau 

A   HAPPY  HOME 

Within  a  cottage  room,  in  simple  guise, 

The  day  toil  done,  a  family  is  grouped; 
The  father  sits  and  reads,  but  oft  his  eyes 

Desert  the  page  and  seek  his  wife,  low  stooped 
Above  the  child  that  cuddles  at  her  knee; 

His  rugged  face  with  love  grown  young  again, 
The  while  he  hears  the  crooning  "  A  "— "  B  "—  "  C," 

That  sweeps  his  heart  like  a  seraph's  sweetest  strain. 
Three  manly  boys  around  the  table  pore 

O'er  books  in  earnest  study  bent.     The  one 
Grown  daughter  steeped  in  all  the  puzzling  lore 

Of  chess,  expounded  by  a  neighbor's  son. 
The  sleek  white  cat  whose  tricks  for  notice  fail, 
Contents  herself  by  frisking  with  her  tail. 

The  large  black  dog  full  stretched  in  calm  content, 

In  blinking  bliss  before  the  ruddy  grate, 
Whose  dancing  flame  across  his  sable  fur  is  sent, 

And  twinkles  in  the  pictures  poised  sedate. 
Anon,  some  foolish  move,  or  happy  feat, 

That  crowns  a  king  or  counts  a  queen  the  less, 
Floats  out  in  merry  laughter  rippling  sweet, — 

Fair  augury  from  out  the  realm  of  chess. 
The  upraised  faces  echo  back  the  chime, 

Until  it  dies  in  ling' ring  smiles  away; 
Their  glowing  eyes  reflect  the  wordless  rhyme, 

That  dwells  within  a  maiden's  laughter  gay. 
Ah,  happy  home  !     Thy  peaceful  love  and  cheer, 

The  crowning  bliss  vouchsafed  to  mortals  here  ! 


83 


1891 

Every  thought  of  my  being  in  melody  blends 
Till  the  musical  anthem  to  Heaven  ascends, 
In  a  swell  of  deep  harmony  peacefully  gay, 
From  my  innermost  soul  on  this  Thanksgiving  Day. 

The  clear  chime  of  the  hymn,  like  an  incense  is  blown 
In  a  cloud  of  sweet  sighs  to  the  seraphim's  throne; 
The  soft  cadence  unrolls  in  a  symphony  sweet, 
Its  hosannas  around  the  Creator's  dear  feet; 

In  low  murmuring  thanks  of  unlimited  praise 
For  the  peace  of  my  life  and  the  length  of  my  days; 
For  the  air  which  I  breathe  with  the  keenest  delight; 
For  the  sunshine  of  day  and  the  calmness  of  night; 

For  the  green  of  the  landscape  and  blue  of  the  skies; 
For  the  beauteous  earth,  and  the  sight  of  my  eyes. 
Oh,  sincerest  of  thanks  for  the  love  that  is  mine  ! 
For  the  love  of  the  mortal,  for  my  Lover  divine  ! 

And  warm  thanks  for  the  guidance  through  trials  of  woe, 
And  the  tenderness  temp'ring  the  pain  I  must  know; 
But  the  deepest  of  thanks  for  the  life  to  be  won, 
When  the  joys  and  trials  of  this  shall  be  done. 

Oh,  I  thank  thee,  my  God,  for  all  blessings  and  loss, 
For  the  glorified  crown,  for  humility's  cross. 
Hear  this  song  of  my  heart,  dear  Creator,  I  pray  ; 
Take  my  anthem  of  thanks  on  this  Thanksgiving  Day  ! 


of  tbe  Dine 

Satan  watched  in  jealous  glee, 

While  Noah  planted  the  grape  vine  tree; 

Stealing  out  when  all  was  done, 

He  cried  :  ' '  Sweet  plant,  thou  art  scarce  begun  ! 


84 


Of  evil  things  thou  shalt  have  no  scant, 
My  own,  my  charming  plant  ! 
Mine  thou  art,  and  mine  shall  be, 
And  I  will  carefully  nurture  thee." 

Through  a  lion,  hog  and  sheep, 
He  plunged  a  dagger  both  swift  and  deep  ; 
Drawing  forth  the  steaming  blood, 
He  bathed  the  vine  in  their  gory  flood. 
Bach  attribute  of  the  living  beast 
Within  the  plant  increased  ; 
Christened  by  this  motley  tide, 
A  mongrel  crew  in  its  veins  abide. 

Hidden  'neath  a  verdured  crest, 

Its  beastly  baptism  is  manifest ; 

Traces  of  this  foster  draught, 

Impregnant  with  all  the  vices  quaffed, 

Flash  out  in  glints  from  the  ripened  plant, 

Like  evil  rays  ascant ; 

Discord  floats  from  out  the  fruit, 

Like  voices  hoarse  from  a  strident  lute. 

He  who  drinks  the  garnered  wine, 
Imbibes  these  traits  from  the  deluged  vine  ; 
Drinking  light,  with  gentle  thirst, 
Awakes  the  friendliest  nature  first, 
That  babbles  forth  in  a  bleating  psalm, — 
Just  like  a  tethered  lamb  ; 
Deeper  draughts  the  traits  will  bring, 
That  make  him  growl  like  the  forest  king. 

Deeper  still  will  bring  him  down 
Below  the  jest  of  the  vilest  clown; 
Quenchless  flames  of  thirsting  fires 
Consume  his  soul  with  their  base  desires. 


85 

He  wallows  round  in  the  seeping  bog, 

A  woeful,  filthy  hog. 

Reason  flees  before  the  vine, 

Whose  tendrils  drip  with  the  blood  of  swine. 

Charming  plant  of  nectared  fire  ! 

A  noble  sprout  of  ignoble  sire, 

Paying  him  most  royally 

For  all  the  care  he  bestowed  on  thee; 

Evil  dreams  that  Satan  weaves, 

Deceitful  lurk  in  thy  trellised  leaves, 

Luring  by  their  vivid  tone 

Through  meshy  snares  that  are  all  his  own  ! 


Cbito  %ife 

Pink-tinted  with  the  warmth  of  rosy  June, 
The  bud  of  nature  drinks  the  shining  draught 
Of  life;  its  elix'r  unconscious  quaffed 
In  mystic  beams.     The  gentle  croon 
Of  seraph's  music  sets  the  world  attune; 
And  all  the  harmonies  of  Heaven  waft, 
As  if  with  revelling  baby  angels  laughed 
In  soft,  low  chimes  a  strange  but  merry  rune. 
Full  brightly  dawns  the  child's  auroral  world, 
By  sunbeams  kissed,  by  angels  lulled  to  rest; 
Fair  rose  within  maternal  arms  unfurled, 
An  angel's  charge  since  first  it  cried  at  birth  ; 
Its  griefs  swift  soothed  upon  a  mother's  breast, 
The  strangest,  fairest  blossom  known  to  earth  ! 


86 

Woman 

God's  masterpiece  was  man,  'tis  fitly  said, 
Yet  earth,  and  man  and  ev'ry  wond'rous  feat, 
When  finished,  still  was  sadly  incomplete. 
Though  man  was  fair,  no  angel  bride  could  wed, 
So  God  created  woman  in  her  stead  ; 
With  form  as  fair,  and  voice  as  strangely  sweet, 
And  very  like  an  angel  when  complete. 
She  came,  and  all  the  world  was  comforted  ! 
Creation's  dream  !     Upon  whose  loveliness 
Angelic  eyes  in  wond'ring  envy  turn, 
Half  jealous  of  the  mortal's  perfectness. 
Oh,  woman,  crowning  gem  of  Heaven's  plan  ! 
Within  whose  heart  celestial  fires  burn 
To  bless  and  purify  the  love  of  man  ! 


Duty  is  a  harsh  word, — 
Pleasure  is  a  better  ; 

Pleasure  is  a  jewel, — 

.     Duty  is  a  fetter. 

But  the  rays  of  pleasure 
Gleam  in  transient  flashes, 

While  the  chain  of  duty 
Ever  loudly  clashes. 

Duty  says,  ' '  Remember  !  ' ' 
Pleasure  bids  forgetting  ; 

Pleasure's  draught  is  nectar. 
But  its  dregs — regretting  J 

Pleasure's  hands  extended, 
Full  of  promise  teeming, 


87 


Melt  away  like  visions 
In  a  night  of  dreaming. 

Pleasure's  birth  is  earthy, — 

Duty's  born  of  heaven  ; 
Pleasure's  sweet  is  cloying, — 

Duty  is  life's  leaven. 
Through  a  maze  of  cloudlands 

Runs  the  path  of  pleasure, 
At  the  goal  each  runner 

Finds  an  empty  measure. 

Duty  touches  burdens 

With  her  rosy  fingers, 
And  a  hidden  magic 

O'er  her  fetters  lingers. 
They  who  stoop  to  gather 

Up  the  chain  of  duty, 
Find  its  heavy  linkings 

Changed  to  strands  of  beauty  ! 


TTo  'EbEself  3Be  Urue 


In  all  thy  acts  to  thyself  be  true, 
Then  God  and  man  will  be  true  to  you. 
A  Nemesis  gaunt  will  thy  footsteps  gauge, 
And  wait  for  thee  at  the  door  of  age. 
Accountant  stern,  to  thy  tott'ring  years 
She  adds  the  weight  of  her  terrored  fears  ; 
She  calls  thy  youth  with  its  swarming  host, 
To  fright  thee  worse  than  a  midnight  ghost. 
Inquisitor's  rack  were  a  downy  bed 
To  that  prepared  for  thy  aged  head  ; 


88 

This  law  and  creed  thou  must  keep  or  rue, — 

In  all  thy  acts  to  thyself  be  true. 

Be  true  !   Be  true,  in  thy  youthful  years  ! 

To  spare  thy  age  unavailing  tears. 

Would' st  make  all  thy  days  like  a  dream  sublime, 

And  snatch  the  lash  from  the  hand  of  time  ? 

Would' st  bless  the  work  thou  art  called  to  do  ? 

Remember  God  ! — To  thyself  be  true  ! 


Hlbum 

I  am  wrapped  in  sad  rev'rie, 

By  myself  all  alone, 
As  I  fasten  the  shutters, 

That  are  noisily  blown 
By  the  storm,  that  is  raging 

In  a  furious  gale, 
As  it  falls  on  my  casement, 

In  a  shower  of  hail. 

And  I  turn,  half  in  grieving, 

From  the  storm-beaten  panes, 
To  the  grate  that  is  rev'lling 

In  the  sensual  flames. 
I  am  tired  of  Chaucer, 

Of  De  Quincey  and  Gray, 
So  I  take  up  my  album 

In  a  spiritless  way. 

And  I  pore  o'er  its  pages, 
Where  it  rests  on  my  knee, 

Till  each  face  as  I  ponder, 
Seems  to  whisper  to  me, 


89 

In  a  whisper  so  laden 
With  the  odor  of  myrrh, 

That  I  feel  its  mute  sadness 
All  my  sympathies  stir. 

Here's  the  face  of  a  maiden 

In  a. beauty  sublime, 
Now  deserted  and  withered 

In  her  womanhood's  prime  ; 
By  her  side  a  companion, 

With  the  eyes  of  a  dove, 
In  a  holacaust  offered 

On  the  altar  of  love. 

Once  again  do  I  shiver 

By  the  funeral  pall, 
As  I  gaze  on  a  comrade, 

Who  was  dearest  of  all. 
There's  a  sigh  full  of  pity, 

Yet  of  sacredness,  too, 
While  I  look  on  a  traitor, 

Who  was  base  and  untrue. 

Here's  the  face  of  a  lover, 

As  it  gazed  into  mine 
With  a  wealth  of  devotion, 

Undefiled  and  divine  ; 
There's  a  mound  with  the  verdure 

Of  its  carpeted  mold, 
Where  forget-me-nots  nestle, 

And  the  story  is  told. 

And  returning  my  album 
To  its  place  on  the  shelf, 

A  soft  peacefulness  wraps  me, 
As  I  sit  by  myself. 


90 


In  the  light  of  the  sadness 
That  the  album  has  thrown, 

The  heart's  not  the  saddest, 
That  is  sitting  alone  ! 


Sbaoow  on  tbe  Curtain 

I  sit  and  dream  in  the  gloaming, 

Till  the  stars  come  one  by  one, 
And  wink  and  blink  at  my  castles, 

In  a  chime  of  twinkling  fun. 
I  watch  their  flickering  flashes, 

Till  a  shade  dispels  their  sway, — 
A  shade  that  falls  on  the  curtain 

In  the  house  across  the  way. 

A  shade  ?     In  truth  they  are  shadows, 

But  together  softly  blent ; 
I  fear  the  regular  plural 

Would  be  scarcely  what  I  meant ; 
And  yet,  one  head  has  its  tresses 

In  a  twisted  Psyche  knot ; 
And  one  short  clipped, — and  I  wonder, 

Is  he  a  mustached  blonde,  or  not  ? 

I  watch  the  play  of  the  shadow, 

lyike  a  wordless  song,  whose  air 
In  music  falls  on  the  curtain 

From  the  lovers  over  there. 
Its  tell-tale  rhythm  is  singing 

An  impassioned  lover's  lay  ; 
The  rhymes  float  out  from  the  shadow 

On  the  curtain  o'er  the  way. 


91 

Hn  ©lt>  /loan's  Dream 

An  old  man  sat  in  a  reverie, 

Watching  the  river  flow  on  to  the  sea. 
The  sinking  sun  cast  a  lingering  ray 

Over  the  stream  and  the  dreamer  so  gray, 
And  forms  stole  out  in  the  mellowed  dyes, 

Softening  the  gleam  in  the  reveried  eyes. 
His  soul  looked  out  in  a  spellbound  gaze 

Over  the  scenes  of  his  earlier  days. 

His  youth  rose  up  with  its  tender  hands, 

Struggling  in  poverty's  manacled  bands  ; 
The  stormy  scenes  of  his  manhood's  years 

Came  in  the  throes  of  their  myriad  fears. 
He  saw  the  grip  of  ambition's  sighs 

Rending  his  heart  with  their  passionate  cries  ; 
He  marveled  much  at  the  little  gain, 

Counting  the  griefs,  and  the  losses  and  pain: 

One  sunny  day  in  a  week  of  rain  ; 

Glimpses  of  joy  through  the  curtain  of  pain  ; 
One  gleam  of  love,  in  whose  joyous  birth 

Heart  songs  of  gladness  rang  out  o'er  the  earth  ; 
A  passing  kiss  from  the  lips  of  fame, 

Born  but  to  die  in  the  hour  it  came  ; 
Some  fleeting  joys  and  some  fleeting  gold, 

Leaving  them  all  for  a  shroud  of  earth  mold. 

Thus  ran  the  dream  of  the  old  man's  life, 

Lighted  by  sunshine  and  shaded  by  strife. 
The  river  sang  as  it  flowed  away, 

Soothing  the  dreamer,  so  old  and  so  gray. 
It  softly  changed  in  the  falling  night, — 

Changed  to  a  river  of  beautiful  light  ! 
The  brilliant  glints  of  the  dying  sun 

Fell  o'er  the  web  of  a  life  that  was  spun. 


92 

Sbe  ant>  $ 

We  are  sisters  two,  but  she  the  fairest  was  in  form  and 

face; 
She  could  sway  all  moods,  and  touch  each  hidden  chord 

with  matchless  grace. 
O'er  her  youth  the  Fates  in  kindness  smiled,  and  blest  her 

tender  years ; 
E'en  all  nature  turned  a   gladsome  face,  nor  droopt  to 

brood  in  tears. 

Soon  came  love  to  crown  her  life  with  lucid  light  through 

all  its  ways, — 
On  her  path  to  shed  its  silv'ry  flame  all  through  the 

perfect  days. 
But  she,  smiling,   bade  him  go;  to    warmest  pleading 

answered,  ' '  Nay  ! " 
While  I  watched,  dismayed,  and  wondering,  asked,  "  Oh, 

why  not  bid  him  stay  ? ' ' 

» 
With  a  frown  she  cold  replied,  "  Ah,  love  his  wings  will 

surely  try ; 
When  the  honey  gold  is  gone  the  wanton  love  is  sure  to 

fly  ! " 
Then  came  gold  with  words  like  seeds  of  fire,  to  win  her 

for  his  own ; 
She  should  reign  within  his  palace,  like  a  queen  upon  her 

throne. 

So  she,  smiling,  bade  him  stay,  and  revelled  in  her  golden 

dream  ; 
O'er  her  pathway  flash  the  golden  rays  with  scintillating 

beam. 
But  'tis  well  the  heart  that  gold  has  given  her  she  cannot 

see  : 
'Tis  a  charnel-house  of  memories   from   which  she'd, 

shudd'ring,  flee. 


93 

Round  its  brighter  halls  encircles  many  a  syren's  pictured 

face ; 
Did  she  know,  alas,  she'd  deem  her  own  no  high  nor 

honored  place ! 
Does  she  know?     Does  vain  regret  e'er  bring  her  sordid 

soul  to  task  ? 
Who  can  tell  ?     There's  none  can  read  the  face  beneath 

a  golden  mask ! 

We  are  sisters  two  ;  my  hands  with  labor  brown;  hers  lily 

white ; 
She  has  wealth,  and  I  have  children  three,  and  toil  from 

morn  till  night. 
Of  one  race,  and  yet  our  lives  so  widely  sundered  each 

from  each, 
That  I  can  as  easy  pluck  a  star  as  hope  her  height  to 

reach ! 

She  is  free  as  bird  to  wing  her  way  all  o'er  the  sea  and 

earth, 
But  a  prisoner  I,  enchained  by  duty's  fetters  since  my 

birth. 
As  to-day  I  read  she  dined  with  kings,  the  fairest  lady 

there,  ' 

Hot  rebellious  thoughts  my  pulses  filled  when  I  our  lots 

compare. 

"  I  have  nothing,  nothing,"  wailed  my  heart  a  moment 

mournfully ; 
"  'Tis  unjust  to  give  her  all  and  dole  such  meagre  gifts 

to  me!  " 
"  Oh,  mama,  mama,  dear!"  young  voices  woke  the  house 

to  life  ; 
"  Oh,   my  dearest !    Home   again,  to  you  my  love,  my 

darling  wife  ! ' ' 


94 

And  I've  nothing?  nothing?  Pardon!  Pardon!  Lord,  my 

sinful  thought  ! 
I  have  all,  and  she  has  nothing  save  the  baubles  gold 

has  bought  ! 


(Bolt) 

Gold,  gold  !  thou'rt  a  curse,  —  yet  a  blessing  with  treasures 

untold. 

Old  !  cold  !  but  waking  the  furious  flames  of  desire  ! 
Leaving  in  ashes  each  heart  that  tastes  of  thy  liquid  fire  ! 
Dream  of  the  youth  and  the  sage,  oh,  beautiful,  syren 

gold! 


Shall  we  count  the  coming  hours, 

And  wait  for  "  better  days?  " 
Shall  we  spurn  to-day  that  's  ours, 

And  on  to-morrow  gaze  ? 
Shall  we  take  the  gifts  at  our  feet, 

Or  turn  impatient  away  ? 
Their  wings  are  light  and  fleet,  — 

Wisdom  would  bid  them  stay. 
To-morrow  may  frowningly  greet  ; 

There  's  a  smile  on  the  face  of  to-day 

Shall  we  turn  our  heads  away, 
Like  children  spoiled  and  proud, 

Just  because  the  lustrous  ray 
Is  dimmed  by  passing  cloud  ? 

Shall  we  count  the  ripening  wheat 
And  reckon  garnered  sheaves  ? 


95 


Find  fault  with  flowers  sweet, 

Sighing  o'er  falling  leaves  ? 
To-day  is  too  brief  and  too  fleet 

For  the  dream  that  the  fanciful  weaves. 

'Tis  enough  to  know  to-day 

Is  offering  treasures  dear. 
Must  we  question,  frown,  or  weigh, 

Or  spoil  with  idle  fear  ? 
Shall  we  scorn  the  proffering  cup, 

Because  its  glistening  wine 
To  the  brim  does  not  come  up  ? 

No  !     From  thy-  hand  divine 
I'll  drink  and  thy  pleasures  all  sup. 
'Tis  enough  I  should  know  they  are  mine  ! 


H  Berkeley  Cottage 

There  nestles  a  vine-covered  cottage 

In  the  shade  of  the  vernal  hills, 
And  often  its  welcoming  greeting 

To  my  innermost  being  thrills 
With  a  measure  of  pleasure, 

That  can  banish  the  darkest  woe, 
-So  beguiling  and  wiling 

Is  the  warmth  of  its  fervid  glow. 

The  charm  of  its  peaceful  seclusion 
Is  the  bonniest  boon  to  me  ; 

I  turn  from  the  smothering  city 
To  the  visions  of  hills  and  sea  ; 

From  the  rustle  and  bustle 

Of  the  harassing  crowds  of  care, 


96 


From  the  spying  and  sighing, 
To  the  peacefulness  brooding  there. 

And  yet,  not  the  charms  of  the  mountains, 

Nor  the  sea  with  its  sunset  dyes, 
Can  rival  with  all  of  its  splendors, 

The  soft  lustre  of  kindling  eyes. 
Ah,  their  greeting  at  meeting, 

Is  a  welcome  almost  divine  ; 
In  its  flowing  and  glowing, 

Like  a  draught  of  celestial  wine  ! 

Though  life  in  its  varying  changes 

Through  the  veil  of  the  future  peers, 
And  beckons  me  out  from  my  dream  lands, 

To  the  glare  of  her  wand' ring  years, 
Ever  ranging,  unchanging, 

All  the  thoughts  of  my  constant  breast, 
In  the  seeming  of  dreaming, 

Shall  fly  back  to  that  cosy  nest. 


Illnfcer  tbe  /l&ulberr^  Uree 

Tweet !     Tweet  !     Tweet  ! 
High  up  in  the  mulberry  tree, 
Two  little  robins  so  glad  and  free, 
Are  looking  and  laughing  at  you  and  me, 
Under  the  mulberry  tree. 

Tweet !     Tweet  !     Tweet  J 
They're  merrily  building  a  nest 
Of  mossy  twigs  all  with  feathers  prest  ; 
The  loveliest,  daintiest  place  of  rest, 
Up  in  the  mulberry  tree. 


97 

Tweet !     Tweet  !     Tweet ! 
They're  nodding  at  you  and  at  me, 
And  singing  "  See,  won't  you  look  and  see  ? 
The  happiest  lovers  are  we,  are  we  !  " 
High  in  the  mulberry  tree. 

Tweet !     Tweet  !     Tweet ! 
Just  look  at  their  wise  little  eyes. ; 
They  say  as  plain  as  the  sunlit  skies  : 
"  Oh,  tell  her  you  love  her,  then  do  likewise  !  " 
Down  from  the  mulberry  tree. 

Sweet !     Sweet  !    Sweet  ! 
You  know  that  I  love  you,  my  dear. 
I'd  ask  a  question,  but,  doubting,  fear  ; 
The  robins  are  right, — I  will  ask  it  here, 
Under  the  mulberry  tree. 

Sweet  !     Sweet !     Sweet  ! 
No  happier  lovers  than  we  ; 
Ere  summer  flies  we  shall  married  be. 
Our  beautiful  nest  you  shall  surely  see, 
Close  to  the  mulberry  tree. 


Ube  H>ex>U's  ffirffce 

The  Devil  one  day  was  sorely  perplext, 

And  thus  to  his  henchman  said: 
"  There's  Pride,  and  there's  L/ust,  there  is  Anger  and  Sloth, 

The  very  best  agents  we've  bred  ; 
And  yet,  there  are  souls  whom  I  longingly  wait, 
Who  perversely  refuse  our  bait !  " 

The  Devil  then  took  a  few  pinches  of  fire, 

And  snuffed  up  his  glowing  red  nose, 
Then  roughly  shook  out  all  the  kinks  in  his  tail, 

And  thoughtfully  gazed  on  his  toes. 


98 

"  Oh,  master,  there's  one  who  will  bring  you  these  souls, 

Tho'  the  others  have  tried  in  vain  ; 
Just  fix  up  a  story  for  Slander  to  tell, 

And  season  it  well  with  pain. 
Then  send  her  to  them  while  it's  spicy  and  new, 
And  I'll  wager  she'll  bring  them  to  you." 

So  straightway  the  Devil  his  potion  to  mix, 

Dissected  a  maiden's  fair  name, 
Then  drew  out  the  blood  from  a  mother's  proud  heart, 

And  mixed  it  all  up  with  the  shame. 
He  brewed  the  lot  well  and  he  seasoned  with  tears, 
Then  gave  it  to  Slander  'mid  cheers. 

She  went  to  the  souls  where  the  others  had  failed, 

And  whispered  the  fiendish  news  ; 
They,  wondering,  heard,  then  asked  her  to  dine, 

Lest  some  of  the  story  they  lose. 

She  stayed  and  made  friends  with  her  smooth  oily  tongue, 
And  they  felt  not  the  fangs  that  stung. 

All  those  who  had  listened  she  smilingly  kissed, — 

Her  kiss  the  red  signet  of  hell  ; 
And  those  who  recounted  her  horrible  tales, 

Beneath  her  dread  mastery  fell. 
The  loathly  contagion  her  breathing  distilled, 
Till  each  soul  with  the  poison  was  filled. 

The  Devil  in  jubilee  capered  about, 

And  gave  her  a  seat  at  his  side ; 
The  red  vaulted  caverns  of  hell  were  aglow, 

Where  soul-dowered  Slander  was  bride. 


99 

Uears 

Tears  !     Tears  !     Tears  ! 

While  the  years  of  life  run  by, 
Though  we  taste  of  the  cup  of  pleasure, 

The  chalice  of  pain  is  nigh. 

Oh,  well  for  the  heart  that's  content, 
And  in  meekness  accepteth  its  part ! 

Oh,  well  for  the  soul  that  feels, 

'Tis  the  tears  that  cleanseth  the  heart ! 

Through  a  blinding  mist  and  rain, 
We  must  reach  our  haven  of  rest, 

And  there  we  shall  learn,  what  we  cannot  here, 
That  the  pain  and  the  tears  were  best  ! 

Tears  !     Tears  !     Tears  ! 

As  the  years  of  life  go  by, 
Though  we  drain  to  the  dregs  the  pleasure, 

The  chalice  of  woe  is  nigh  ! 


TKIlorfe 

"Work!"     "Work!" 
'Tis  the  commanding  refrain 
In  the  busy  song  of  life. 

"Work!"     "Work!" 
Ivist  to  the  echoing  strain 
Of  the  rhythmed  spirit  of  strife! 
I/oud  o'er  the  hills  and  the  vale, 
And  in  whispers  through  the  gale, 
Muffled  to  sobs  in  our  grief, 
It  is  crooned  by  every  leaf. 


100 

"Work!"     "Work!" 
Nature  assigns  thee  a  task, 
And  she  sings  with  every  breath, 

"Work!"     "Work!" 
Sluggardly  rest  is  a  mask, 
That  conceals  the  spirit's  death. 
List  to  the  song  as  it  floats 
O'er  the  verdured  fields  and  moats  ! 
Take  the  refrain!     Let  it  fly, 
Like  a  timbrel's  joyful  cry! 

"Work!"     "Work!" 
Action  and  life  are  in  work  ! 
But  in  death  dwells  peace  and  rest. 

"Work!"     "Work!" 
Seek  not  thy  portion  to  shirk, 
For  the  worker's  part  is  best. 
Action  is  life — when  'tis  fled 
Then  in  life  thou  liv'st — dead  ! 
Rest  is  the  twilight  of  gloom, 
And  its  night'  falls  in  the  tomb  ! 


Beafc 

Now  fold  the  hands,  so  white  and  cold, 

Upon  the  pulseless  breast, 
And  gently  close  the  tired  eyes, 

In  death's  unbroken  rest. 
No  toil  shall  stain  those  snowy  hands, 

No  tears  shall  dim  the  eyes, 
No  earthly  cares  again  shall  wake 

The  burning  storm  of  sighs. 

No  tolling  bells,  nor  lowered  flags, 
Announce  a  hero's  death  ; 


101 


No  wondrous  tales  of  daring  deeds 

Are  told  with  bated  breath. 
And  yet,  no  name  on  Fame's  bright  scroll 

A  greater  vict'ry  won, 
Than  he  who  lies  so  silent  there, 

Uneulogized,  unsung  ! 

Not  his  the  gift  to  thrill  men's  hearts, 

L,ike  orators  of  old  ; 
Not  his  the  hands  to  turn  all  things, 

As  Midas  did,  to  gold  ; 
O'er  self,  and  passions  wild  and  strong, 

A  noble  vict'ry  gained  ; 
A  noble  life  for  others  lived, 

Unselfish  and  unstained. 

The  incense  from  that  humble  life 

Is  dearer  far  to  him 
Than  those  who  drank  immortal  wine 

From  fortune's  flowing  brim. 
And  as  ye  gently  place  him  in 

His  narrow  home  of  clay, 
Angelic  choirs  a  requiem  sing, 

Celestial  harpists  play. 


Wine 

Softly  and  low  this  syren  comes  tapping, 

Gently  tapping  at  every  door  ; 
Wooing  gay  youth  with  phantasy's  promise, 

Luring  age  with  sophistical  lore  ; 
Amorous  fires  from  her  amber  eyes 
Flash  like  gleams  from  Elysian  skies. 

Odorous  breathings  soaring  around  her, 
Bathe  all  hearts  in  a  trance  of  desire  ; 


102 

Mystical  incense,  weird  and  bewitching, 

Floating  out  from  her  heart  of  fire  ; 
Witching  odors  that  burn  the  brain, 
Censer  and  incense  of  shame  and  pain. 

Stretching  out  arms  in  wanton  caressing, 
Danger  lurks  in  her  perfumed  breath  ; 

Languorous  eyes  are  raised  in  persuasion, 
L/uring  men  on  to  destruction  and  death  ; 

Binding  the  soul  in  her  mystic  spell ; 

Changing  mortals  to  imps  of  hell. 

Falsest  deceiver  !  Holding  her  captives 
Fettered  slaves  to  her  will  evermore  ; 

Stranded  and  wrecked,  alone  they  are  lying, 
Mocked  by  the  waves  on  her  skeleton  shore  ; 

Pitiless  winds  in  a  bleaching  shroud, 

Wrapping  forms  once  so  haughty  and  proud. 

Outcasts,  alone  in  misery  dying ; 

Spurned  by  her  who  has  wrecked  their  soul  ; 
Taking  their  all  for  amorous  shadows  ; 

I/uring  them  on  to  a  prizeless  goal ; 
Dying  alone,  where  their  bleaching  bones 
Need  no  epitaph's  glowing  tones. 

Beautiful  temptress,  beckoning  men  on, 
On,  to  fall  at  thy  revelling  shrine  ! 

Where,  in  a  frenzy,  lovers  are  throwing 
Heaven  away  for  embrace  of  thine  ; 

Blindly  deeming  thy  meagre  dole 

Ample  fee  for  their  ruined  soul. 


103 

1bope 

Oh,  grow  not  faint,  thou  weary  heart, 

Though  storm  clouds  rage  to-day  ! 
The  blinding  tempest  soon  is  spent, 

The  darkness  passed  away. 
Then  break  not  now,  oh  tired  heart ! 

But  bend  thee  to  thy  fate  ; 
The  past  already  claims  to-day, 

Though  morning  seemeth  late. 
Our  anguished  tears  shall  dim  repose 

In  memory's  shroud  of  gray  ; 
We'll  gather,  by  to-morrow's  sun, 

The  hopes  all  wrecked  to-day  ! 


Beautiful 

I  know  two  hands  so  plain  and  brown, 
To  me  they're  wondrous  fair  ; 

Although  they  are  no  artist's  dream, 
None  others  can  compare. 

I^et  poets  sing  and  sculptors  rave 
O'er  hands  so  soft  and  white, 

But  let  me  keep  my  mother's  hands 
To  be  my  life's  delight. 

Though  other  hands  their  loving  clasp 

Upon  my  own  entwine, 
They'll  never  be  one  half  so  dear 

As  mother's  hands  divine. 

I'll  ne'er  forget  those  loving  hands, 
While  life  and  love  shall  last, 

And  know  they'll  greet  me  lovingly, 
When  life  and  earth  are  past. 


104 


They've  toiled  for  me  both  night  and  day,- 

Two  tireless,  faithful  friends  ; 
Though  giving  them  a  royal  love, 

I  cannot  make  amends. 

My  happiness  was  all  their  care  ; 

They  toiled  for  that  alone 
Through  many  sunless,  struggling  years, 

Without  a  sigh  or  moan. 

Though  wrinkled  now  with  age  and  toil, 

They're  beautiful  to  see  ; 
Of  all  things  dear  those  dear  old  hands 

The  dearest  are  to  me. 


IReigbbor 

I  have  a  happy  neighbor, 

Who  lives  next  door  to  me, 
And  every  pleasant  morning, 

His  cheery  face  I  see. 
He  watches  for  my  coming, 

And  when  my  toils  commence, 
Just  opposite  my  kitchen, 

He  perches  on  the  fence. 

He  never  crosses  over, 

But  sits  and  chats  away, 
And  if  the  door  stood  open, 

He'd  sit  and  chat  all  day. 
His  curly  locks  half  hidden 

Beneath  a  battered  straw, 
Whose  mangled  rim  resembles 

A  curved  and  rusty  saw. 


105 

He  shows  the  deepest  interest 

In  everything  I  do  ; 
He  often  says  he  loves  me, — 

And  I  believe  it's  true. 
That  rusty  straw  is  shading 

The  sweetest  face  I  know, 
And  though  he's  only  seven, 

I  love  my  little  beau. 

His  bright,  old-fashioned  chatter 

Has  made  him  dear  to  me. 
May  heaven  bless  the  prattler, 

And  guide  his  destiny  ! 
I  wonder  half  in  sadness, 

The  while  he  chatters  o'er, 
Will  e'er  my  little  neighbor 

Forget  my  kitchen  door  ? 


H  OLetter 

'Twas  but  a  faded  letter, 

A  relic  from  the  past, 
Its  withered  heart  exhaling 

A  cruel,  bitter  blast. 
Each  letter  outward  glaring 

With  thrilling,  nameless  fright, 
And  this  is  what  was  written 

Upon  its  pages  white  : 

1 '  Dear  friend,  I  have  a  secret, 

That  I  must  tell  to  you  ; — 
I'm  going  to  be  married 

Inside  a  week  or  two." 
The  words  are  dimmed  and  faded, 
And  yet  there  comes  to-night, 


106 

The  mera'ry  of  the  anguish, 
And  all  the  years  of  blight  ; 

The  cruellest  awakening, 

When  dreams  were  at  an  end, 
All  shattered  by  the  being, 
Far  dearer  than  a  friend. 
His  tearless  sobs  re-echo, 
"  I  loved  her  !  —  loved  her  true  !  " 
While  wailing  in  impotence, 
"And  I,—  I  thought  she  knew  !  " 

He  did  not  see  the  trembling 

Of  fingers  loved  and  dear, 
Nor  know  that  o'er  the  message 

There  fell  a  parting  tear. 
While  to  herself  she  murmured, 
"  I  thought  he  cared  for  me  ! 
Ah,  no,  'twas  foolish  dreaming  ; 

It  could  not,  could  not  be  !  " 

Two  souls  through  life  are  wand'ring, 

In  each  a  buried  sigh, 
And  both  have  missed  the  sweetness, 

That  touched  them  going  by. 
And  o'er  this  faded  letter, 

He  sits  with  drooping  head, 
His  life  unblessed  and  lonely 

By  words  he  left  unsaid. 


When  the  friends  that  are  dear, 
Who  lightly  love  and  part, 

Shall  gaze  with  a  doubting  sneer 
On  thy  bruised  and  aching  heart  ; 


107 

When  the  praise  that  is  sweet, 

Shall  turn  to  dregs  of  gall, 
And  pass  with  transient  feet 

To  obey  another's  call ; 
When  the  travail  of  tears 

Shall  rend  thy  soul  in  twain, 
And  sob  in  thy  aching  ears 

In  an  agony  of  pain  ; 
When  suspicion's  red  beams 

Shall  shed  their  scorching  ray, 
To  wither  thy  fondest  dreams, 

Till  they,  crumbling,  drop  away, — 
Come,  thou  friend  of  my  youth, 

And  I  will  give  to  thee 
A  heart  of  devoted  truth, 

And  undying  constancy  ! 
Come,  in  friendship's  dear  name, 

For  sake  of  "Auld  L,ang  Syne," 
Thy  heart  shall  revive  its  flame, 

From  the  slumb'ring  coals  in  mine. 


Mission  of  tbe  1fool£  Cross 

Santa  Cruz,  September  28th,  7797 

TO  REVEREND  HUGH  MCNAMEE 

Near  the  banks  of  I/orenzo,  where  wild  roses  grew 
In  an  emerald  bed  'neath  a  cover  of  dew, 
Where  the  tangled  wild  fruit  thro'  the  leanness  stole, 
And  the  saucy-eyed  squirrel  peeped  out  from  his  hole  ; 
Where  the  hills  and  the  valley  trip  down  to  the  seas, 
To  the  music  of  birds  from  the  giant-like  trees  ; 
Where  the  rocks  and  the  vines  thro'  a  glimmer  of  gold, 
In  a  rapturous  vision  their  beauties  unfold  ; — 


108 

On  the  carpeted  soil  of  the  virginal  land, 

Unscarred  by  the  touch  of  a  civilized  hand, 

In  the  glow  of  an  Indian  Summer  long  past, 

The  first  cross  and  its  lengthening  shadow  was  cast. 

O'er  it  played  the  soft  kiss  of  September's  warm  sun, 

And  high  Heaven  rejoiced  at  the  mission  begun  ; 

On  the  breast  of  that  land  through  its  grasses  and  moss, 

Was  incarved  the  dear  name  of  the  glorious  cross. 

; '  Santa  Cruz  !     Santa  Cruz  !  "     Sung  the  heralds  of  God, 
As  they  blessed  and  baptized  the  regenerate  sod. 

1 '  Santa  Cruz  !     Santa  Cruz  ! ' '     Sung  the  hills  to  the  sea, 
Till  the  echo  was  caught  in  the  heart  of  the  lea, 
And  the  red  sons  of  Nature  in  wonderment  stood, 
As  they  timidly  gazed  from  the  depths  of  the  wood 
On  the  sable-clad  priests,  without  arrows  or  spear, 
In  the  shade  of  the  cross,  undisturbed  by  a  fear. 

For  the  symbol  that  sprung  from  dark  Calvary's  shame 
Sheds  the  light  of  its  love  in  a  conquering  flame, 
And  the  heart  of  the  savage  was  tamed  and  subdued 
By  the  sad  solemn  cross  he  could  see  from  the  wood. 
'Tis  a  century  now  since  he  wended  to  pray'r, 
To  the  voice  of  the  bells  thro'  the  slumbering  air  ; 
'Tis  a  century  past  since  the  white-handed  priest 
Poured  oblations  divine  at  the  first  blessed  feast. 

Now  the  stillness  has  deepened,  unheeded  the  dawn, 
For  the  white  hands  are  stilled  and  the  neophyte  gone; 
Not  a  vestige  to  mark  where  the  wigwam  was  laid, 
Not  a  trace  of  the  red  man  in  forest,  or  glade. 
O'er  the  church  a  few  relics  their  vigil  still  keep, 
And  the  life  that  was  theirs  seems  to  stealthily  creep 
In  low  whispers  adown  from  the  pictures  so  old, 
And  float  out  from  the  garments  embroidered  in  gold. 


109 

As  I  stood  on  the  top  of  the  crumbling,  old  wall, 
In  a  tangle  of  vines  that  was  covering  all, 
I  could  gaze  on  the  graves,  where  the  faithful  found  rest 
'  Neath  the  yellowing  stones  by  the  sunshine  carest  ; 
Through  the  silence  was  borne  the  shrill  scream  of  the 

train, 

As  it  passed  o'er  the  spot  where  Quintana  was  slain. 
Ah,  'tis  fair  this  warm  land,  —  this  red  land  of  the  sun,  — 
By  the  blood  of  our  priesthood  in  martyrdom  won  ! 

The  sad  reverie  fled,  as  the  priest  at  my  side 
Raised  his  hand  with  a  gesture  of  tenderest  pride 
To  the  church  that  arose  from  the  century's  mold,  — 
A  fair  blossom  new  born  from  the  heart  of  the  old,  — 
Where  oblations  are  poured  by  a  white-handed  priest, 
Just  as  pure  as  they  flowed  at  the  first  blessed  feast  ; 
And  the  cross  that  was  born  in  black  Calvary's  woe 
Is  the  refuge  and  strength  that  it  was  long  ago  ! 


Ube  Ibammer 

I  hear  the  clink  of  the  builder's  hammer, 

As  I  sit  in  my  room  alone  ; 
At  every  stroke  all  the  air  waves  tremble 

With  a  rhythmical,  soothing  tone. 
It  works  away  like  a  human  being, 

And  its  power  seems  to  feel  ; 
More  wondrous  far  than  magician's  sceptre 

Is  this  sensitive  bit  of  steel. 

There  rises  up  'neath  its  magic  bidding, 
The  most  beautiful  dream  of  man  ; 

It  works  away  till  the  dreamer's  dreaming 
Is  a  tangible,  shapeful  plan. 


110 

A  genius  fair  to  its  mortal  master, 
It  responds  with  a  cheerful  sound, 

And  splendors  brings  from  the  world  of  chaos 
To  the  wondering  eyes  around. 

It  works  all  day,  and  its  merry  singing 

In  the  tremulous  air  is  rife  ; 
Its  noisy  song  all  the  echoes  waking, 

Like  the  spirit  of  glowing  life. 
The  clink,  clink,  clink  of  the  hammer's  music 

Is  the  sweetest  of  sounds  to  me, 
And  every  stroke  is  a  voice  prophetic 

Of  the  beautiful  things  to  be. 


Hftermatb 

There  comes  a  time  when  the  heart  grows  weary, 

And  sunniest  days  seem  dull  and  dreary  ; 

When  voices  of  friends  seem  harsh  and  hateful, 

And  solitude  is  benign  and  grateful  ; 

When  heart  and  brain  leave  the  turmoiled  scheming, 

To  revel  in  retrospective  dreaming, 

Alone,  o'er  scenes  of  the  past  to  ponder, 

And  tranquilly  through  its  shadows  wander. 

Heart-sick,  to  turn  from  the  brilliant  gleaming, 
Full  surfeited  with  its  vapid  seeming, 
And  loathing  the  haunts  of  giddy  pleasure, 
Turn  back  to  strains  of  a  sadder  measure. 
Alone  !     Alone  !     In  preferred  disunion, 
To  hold  with  its  soul  a  sweet  communion; 
There  comes  a  time  when  the  lie  grows  hateful, 
And  solitude  is  the  boon  most  grateful. 


Ill 


Then,  dearest  one,  when  thy  heart  is  knowing 
The  bitterness  hid  in  life's  vain  showing; 
When  wearily  turning  from  the  seeming, 
From  phantom  joys  of  illusive  dreaming, 
Thou  drawest  far  from  places  crowded, 
And  sittest  alone  in  sadness  shrouded, 
The  long  dead  love,  all  its  old  spell  weaving, 
Shall  soothe  thy  heart  in  its  lonely  grieving  ! 


Bventtoe 

I  watched  the  toiling  tide 

As  it  poured  in  a  turbid  flow, 
As  it  surged  at  eventide 

'Neath  the  lingering  sunset's  glow 
From  out  the  dingy  mart, 

Where  the  laborer's  days  are  spent; 
Where  beats  the  city's  heart, 

And  its  vitalized  life  is  sent. 

The  streaming  tide  of  life, 

As  it  rushed  through  the  opened  gates, 
Away  from  toiling  strife 

And  away  from  all  jealous  hates  ; 
They  surged  in  eager  glee, 

To  the  air  of  the  outer  world, 
I^ike  wavelets,  joyous,  free, 

From  the  ocean  of  labor  hurled. 

Ah,  many  joys  and  woes 

Can  be  read  in  its  quickened  deeps, 
As  thus  at  evening's  close, 

Unrestrained,  it  homeward  leaps. 
Some  forms  bear  rudest  trace 

Of  grim  poverty's  cruel  hand, 


112 


While  some  in  artless  grace, 
Make  a  jubilant,  happy  band. 

Beside  the  gay  and  fair, 

With  a  brow  of  unruffled  calm, 
There  stride  dark  forms  of  care, 

Like  the  breath  of  a  mournful  psalm. 
Some  go  to  homes  of  light 

With  a  smile  in  their  longing  eyes, 
While  some  but  wish  at  night, 

For  the  sun  in  to-morrow's  skies. 

'Tis  thus  the  years  run  on 

With  their  varying  hopes  and  fears, 
And  thus  our  life  work's  done, 

Side  by  side  in  our  joys  and  tears. 
The  evening  shadows  fall, 

And  the  turbulent  tide  is  passed  ; 
Kind  night  has  over  all, 

Her  own  comforting  mantle  cast. 


Sonnet 

What  dream  so  fair  as  summer's  flashing  skies, 

When  full-robed  Luna  sits  in  royal  pride  ? 
While  golden  rain  from  out  her  sceptre  flies, 

And  pours  o'er  earth  its  scintillating  tide  ? 
Ah,  one  bright  dream  to  errant  mortals  sent, 

Is  fair  as  flash  of  Luna's  dazzling  rays  ! 
The  moonlight  peacefulness  and  glory  blent 

In  that  sweet  dream  that  gilds  the  darkest  days. 
When  perfect  love  in  fullest  splendor  reigns, 

And  bathes  the  world  in  floods  of  golden  beams, 


113 


The  rays  scintillant  flashed  from  mortal  veins, 
Serenely  vieing  with  the  moon's  bright  streams. 

In  love's  clear  sky  undimmed  by  darkling  strifes, 
Fair  I^una's  sceptre  fades  before  the  wife's. 


Ube  Suicifce 

Turn  not  in  loathing  away  ! 

Bend  down  in  tenderness 
Over  this  clay  ! 

Fold  the  pale  hands  o'er  the  breast  ! 
Humanely  pitying,  — 

Fold  them  to  rest. 


the  tost  tresses  aside  ! 

Smooth  out  the  mattedness, 
Trying  to  hide 

Some  of  the  horror  it  knew  ! 
Hide  all  its  loathsomeness 

Out  of  our  view  ! 

Draw  the  white  lids  o'er  the  eyes, 
Gazing  in  shocking  and 

Startled  surprise  ! 

Banish  the  horrible  glare, 

Speaking  remorse  in  its 
Sickening  stare  ! 

Speak  not  in  censure  nor  blame  ! 

Pity  the  foolishness  ! 
Pity  the  shame  ! 

Pity  the  dreariness  here  ! 
Shed  o'er  it  feelingly 

Charity's  tear  ! 


114 

Speak  of  the  heart  that  was  true  ! 

Think  of  the  best  of  it ! 
Bring  it  to  view, 

Here  in  its  solitude  ! 
Pity  its  loneliness  ! 

Think  of  the  good  ! 

Think  of  the  soul-rending  strain  ! 

Think  of  the  misery, 
Terror  and  pain  ! 

Death  in  its  hideous  kiss, 
Held  for  the  dying  who 

Wooed  it  like  this  ! 

Fleeing  in  madness  and  fear  ! 

Fleeing  the  torturers 
Haunting  it  here  ! 

Goaded  by  miseries,  flown 
Far  from  the  wretchedness 

Bitterly  known  ! 

Judge  not  the  criminal  there  ! 

Judge  not  the  sinfulness 
Of  its  despair  ! 

Bend  o'er  it !     Pity  its  fall ! 
Be  to  it  merciful ! 

Judge  not  at  all ! 

Think  that  kind  Heaven  has  shed 

Into  the  soul  of  it, 
Just  ere  it  fled, 

One  of  contrition's  sweet  sighs, 
That  in  its  whisperings 

Pierced  through  the  skies  ! 


115 

Decently  robe  it  and  lave  ! 

Tenderly,  tearfully, 
Lay  in  the  grave, 

Back  with  its  own  mother  sod  ! 
Leave  it  in  peacefulness, — 

Leave  it  with  God  ! 


H  H>ream 

I  gazed  upon  the  ocean  : 

Its  every  movement  spoke  of  thee  ; 
Its  poetry  of  motion 

Recalled  thy  grace  to  me. 

I  gazed  up  to  the  heavens, 

On  jeweled  splendor  of  the  skies : 
Each  star  in  diamond  flashes, 

Brought  back  thy  gleaming  eyes. 

I  wandered  'mid  the  flowers, 
An  exile  in  far  distant  climes  : 

The  fragrance  of  their  breathing 
Awoke  those  bygone  times. 

The  murmurs  of  the  zephyrs 

Were  gentle  whisperings  of  thee  ; 

The  warbling  of  the  song  birds 
Was  like  thy  voice  to  me. 

I  braved  the  storm  of  battle, 
And  in  the  tumult  of  that  hour, 

With  horrors  round  me  stalking, 
I  felt  thy  witching  pow'r. 


116 

Though  years  have  passed  in  absence 
O'er  many  alien  lands  and  stream, 

At  every  turn  there  rises 
This  retrospective  dream. 


post  /iDortem 

Bring  flowers  and  deck  the  silent  dead  ! 
On  costly  pillow  lay  the  weary  head  ! 
In  richest  robe  of  lace  and  satin  rare, 
Array  the  form  that  e'en  in  death  is  fair  ! 
As  o'er  the  still  and  icy  clay  ye  gaze, 
With  lavish  words  ye  chant  the  dead  one's  praise, 
And  o'er  the  lost  in  pity  shed  a  tear, 
And  weep  that  one  so  fair  should  grace  the  bier 
In  early  bloom. 

With  flowers  make  bright  the  gloomy  pall, 
And  praise  her  now, — in  life  ye  kept  it  all. 
But  scandal  gave  enough  to  blight  her  life, 
She  gladly  died  to  end  the  weary  strife. 
Before  those  pallid  cheeks  and  sightless  eyes, 
Within  your  hardened  hearts  regrets  must  rise  ; 
A  little  love  had  saved  so  much  of  pain  ; 
Your  praise,  alas,  as  recompense  is  vain. 
'Tis  late  !     Too  late  ! 

Give  flowers  in  wreaths  and  crosses  fair, 
In  shapes  of  floral  art  beyond  compare  ; 
A  costly  casket,  fun'ral  large  and  long; 
A  grand  display  in  music,  sermon,  song. 
She  sought  but  little, — charity  and  love  ; 
Your  tardy  gifts  help  not  the  soul  above. 


117 

When  asking  love,  ye  gave  her  but  a  stone  ; 
Think  now  these  things  your  harshness  can  atone  ? 
Too  late  !     Too  late  ! 


feature's  Sons 

Sings  the  brooklet  gliding  by, 
Trill  the  birds  in  branches  high, — 
"God  is  love!" 

Gentle  zephyrs  whisper  low, 
As  o'er  mount  and  vale  they  go, 
In  wild  play  or  movement  slow, — 
"  God  is  love  !" 

When  the  morning  wakes  the  flow'rs, 
Then  they  sing  through  all  the  hours,- 
"  God  is  here!" 

When  the  night  falls  o'er  the  wood, 
Still  the  song  comes  clear  and  good, 
From  the  voiceless  solitude, — 
"God  is  here!" 

When  with  joy  our  life  is  blest, 
Then  we  sing  with  all  the  rest, — 
"God  is  love  !" 

If  the  clouds  make  dark  the  way, 
Into  night  is  changed  our  day  ; 
Yet  this  song  will  cheer  and  stay, — 
"God  is  love!" 

In  the  days  all  sunny  bright, 
Pours  the  heart  in  glad  delight, — 
"God  is  here  !" 


118 

In  the  night  of  gloom  and  pain, 
Comes  that  blessed  strain  again. 
Courage,  soul !     New  hope  regain  ! — 
"God  is  here!" 


/IDinstrel  Malts 

Two  minstrel  children  stood  and  played 

Upon  a  busy  thoroughfare  ; 
Their  clothes  were  scanty,  mean  and  old. 

And  yet  they  seemed  a  happy  pair. 
The  boy  played  on  his  violin, 

With  soul  so  wrapped  in  every  tone, 
His  visioned  eyes  saw  not  the  crowd  ; 

He  stood  a  monarch  there — alone  ! 

The  notes  leapt  out  like  prison'd  birds, 

And  filled  the  air  with  melody  : 
Staccato  tones  of  boisterous  joy, 

And  leggio  depths  of  victory. 
The  busy  toilers  ceased  their  work 

To  join  the  eager  listening  throng, 
Enchained  by  music's  mystic  charm, 

Entranced  by  spell  of  air  and  song. 

The  girl  then  poised  her  tambourine 

To  catch  each  drop  of  silver  rain  ; 
The  boy  still  played,  his  dreamy  eyes 

Unkindled  by  the  fire  of  gain. 
With  beaming  face  the  maiden  stooped 

To  pick  some  truant  coins  that  fell, 
And  still  he  played,  and,  dreaming,  gazed 

Until  she  roused  him  from  the  spell. 


119 


Oh,  minstrel  waifs,  whence  are  ye  borne  ? 

And  how  is  cast  your  destiny  ? 
For  some,  like  you.  who  drank  full  deep 

The  bitter  draught  of  poverty, 
Have  risen  up  a  famous  band, 

Whose  pulses  throb  in  quickened  glow 
At  plaudits  of  a  wondering  land. 


Uime 

"  Ho,  ho  !  "  said  Old  Time,  as  he  passed 
By  a  woman  besmirched  with  paint, 
"  Is  it  thus,  my  caress  you'd  o'ercast  ? 

By  my  beard  !  '  tis  a  noble  feint ! 
But  know  you,  my  arrant  old  dame, 

'Tis  as  well  that  you  spare  such  fuss  ; 
No  pigments  can  cope  with  my  fame, 
Nor  Old  Time  be  deluded  thus  !  " 

So  saying,  he  touched  her  again 

Till  the  wrinkles  grew  long  and  deep  : 
"  Ho,  ho  !     All  your  nostrums  are  vain, 

For  my  furrows  shall  through  them  creep  ! " 
A  smile  like  a  midsummer's  rift, 

Through  the  frost  of  his  visage  broke, 
And  changed  his  cold  touch  to  a  gift 

In  the  breath  of  a  gentle  stroke, — 

As  softly  it  fell  on  a  dame, 

Who  was  cheerfully  growing  old: 
"  Ha,  ha  !  as  thou  feelest  no  shame 
In  my  kisses  so  stern  and  cold, 
I'll  bless  the  bright  faith  of  thy  heart ; 

Ha,  ha  !  not  a  wrinkle  shall  tell, ' ' 
Said  Old  Time  as  he  turned  to  start, 
"  Where  the  chill  of  my  kisses  fell ! " 


120 

Urutb 

Vex  not  thy  soul  in  rage, 

O'er  words  of  reproof,  till  thy  face 
Be  like  a  lettered  page 

With  blushes  in  crimsoning  race  ; 
A  blind,  impassioned  brood, 

Diffused  in  a  fiery  tide, 
Resenting  phrases  rude 

With  haughty,  imperative  pride. 

I<et  not  thy  spirit  fret 

Because  of  illusions  laid  bare, 
Nor  chafe  in  hot  regret 

For  words  diplomatic  and  fair. 
The  face  of  truth  is  stern, 

But  sternness  and  justice  so  blend, 
Once  known  and  felt,  we  learn 

To  recognize  it  as  a  friend. 

The  hand  that  cuts  away 

The  growth  from  the  cancerous  sore, 
Is  truer  friend  that  day 

Than  one  who  would  cover  it  o'er. 
The  piercing  words  that  rend 

Conceit  in  a  spasm  of  shame, 
But  prove  him  truer  friend 

Than  one  who  would  add  to  the  flame. 

Unvarnished  candor  galls, 

So  every  one's  friend  must  be  sweet  ; 
But  surplus  of  sweetness  soon  palls, 

And  only  fair  truth  is  complete. 
Spurn  not  the  friend  she  will  send, 

But  claim  him  at  once  for  thine  own  ; 
For  everybody's  friend 

Is  nobody's  friend  but  his  own  ! 


121 

jfraternitg 

DEDICATED    TO    THE    Y.   M.  I. 

August,  1890 

A  life  that  round  itself  doth  roll, 
Is  life — but  life  without  a  soul ! 
Deprived  the  vivifying  ray, 
Immortalizing  mortal  clay. 

For  vain  is  speech,  and  vain  are  creeds, 
Unleavened  with  the  life  of  deeds  ; 
And  vanity's  most  artful  pelf 
Is  vain  upon  the  idol  self ! 

A  life  wrapped  up  in  selfish  earth, 
Ignores  its  high,  ennobling  birth, 
And  spurns  the  heritage  of  God, 
Content  to  live  a  soulless  clod  ! 

The  soul  designed  for  high  emprise, 
To  life's  sweet  labor  swiftly  flies, 
And  emulates  the  noble  plan 
Of  Christ,  who  loved  his  brother  man  ! 

Incarnate  God  !     Who  walked  unshamed 
As  man,  with  man,  his  heart  inflamed 
With  boundless  love,  so  deep  and  brave, 
To  bless  the  saint,  the  sinner  save  ! 

Then  hail !     Ye  noble  Christian  band, 
Whose  course  divinity  has  planned; 
Thy  strong  fraternal  bonds  of  love 
Approved  by  deity  above. 

In  blended  links  thy  works  uphold 
To  form  a  chain  of  graven  gold, 
Knwrought  with  loving  Christian  deeds, 
And  Charity's  immortal  creeds  ! 


122 


As  man  with  man,  as  brother,  friend, 
Fraternal  love  with  Christ's  shall  blend, 
And  Heaven's  high  majestic  throne, 
Shall  weave  thy  glory  with  its  own  ! 

March  on  !     In  union's  strength  and  might, 
With  holy  faith  thy  beacon  light  ! 
Beneath  the  cross,  its  pledge  and  guide  ; 
Beneath  the  flag,  thy  nation's  pride  ! 

Work  on  !    Thy  work  is  grand  and  good, 
And  thou  a  noble  brotherhood  ! 
With  lofty  standards  full  in  view, 
To  God  and  country  loyal,  true  ! 


Safe 

Ah,  who  can  speak  in  arrogant  pride 

Of  an  erring  brother's  sin, 
While  round  himself  the  treacherous  tide 

Its  deceitful  ripples  spin  ? 
And  who  dare  gaze  with  pitiless  eyes 

On  a  soul  storm-tost,  perplext  ? 
The  circling  vortex,  widening,  flies 

To  engulf  the  scoffer  next. 
For  who  is  safe,  and  who  can  defy 

The  deceitful  whirls  that  wait 

In  the  surging  sea  of  fate  ? 
Count  them  as  safe  who,  anchoring,  lie 

Undisturbed  by  life's  rough  breath, 

In  the  harbored  calm  of  death. 


123 


TTbe  3Bacbelor's  Song 

The  humming  bird  flies  from  flower  to  flower, 
«  And  draws  from  each  heart  in  flashing  sips, 
The  innermost  wealth  of  honeyed  dower, 
While  scarcely  it  touches  the  perfumed  lips, 
Till  over  another  it  quickly  dips  ! 

Thus  onward  it  flies,  contentedly  winging 
Its  way  through  the  garden's  scented  air, 

To  every  bud  his  love  song  singing  ! 
Though  every  one  is  sweet  and  rare, 
The  charms  of  the  last  he  finds  most  fair  ! 

Ah,  sly  little  bird  that  revels  in  blisses, — 
The  garden  is  full  of  honeyed  store. 

Then  why  should  he  lack  for  sweetest  kisses  ? 
The  humming  bird's  wise  !     Be  ours  his  lore, 
And  we  just  as  free  for  evermore. 


Ube  Xover's  TResponse  to  tbe  Bacbelor 

I  know  two  eyes  so  brightly  blue, 

Whose  diamond  shaft  has  pierced  me  through  ; 

I  burn  beneath  the  flashing  ray, 

Yet  love  to  linger  'neath  their  sway — 

Dear  eyes  so  true, 

Of  tender  blue. 

If  you  could  see  them  beam  on  me, 
No  crusty  bachelor  you'd  be  ; 
Before  the  fire  of  melting  eyes 
Your  silly  lore  a  coward  flies — 

Dear  eyes,  to  thee 

I'll  constant  be. 


124 


Such  rays  would  pierce  a  heart  of  snow, 

And  lay  its  resolutions  low  ; 

I'll  not  resist  those  eyes  divine, 

But  hope  that  soon  I'll  call  them  mine — 

Dear  eyes  aglow, 

I  love  you  so. 

I  grieve  that  base  inconstancy 
And  faithless  vaunting  pledges  thee. 
I  may  not  censure,  curse,  nor  blame, 
But  no  true  lover  sanctions  same — 

For  love  is  true, 

And  lovers  too. 


My  love  is  not  a  beauty, 

I  candidly  admit ; 
No  devotee  of  fashion, 

Of  repartee  and  wit ; 
No  glistening  orb  is  she, 

Whom  satellites  attend 
All  round  the  shining  circuit, 

Where  wealth  and  beauty  wend. 

The  gilded  halls  of  pleasure 

Are  strangers  to  her  feet ; 
No  courtly  cavaliers 

Her  presence  rush  to  greet, 
Rewarded  by  a  glance 

Of  Cupid's  limpid  fire, 
Or  press  of  snowy  hand, 

And  smile  that  each  desire. 


125 

Yet,  though  you  see  no  beauty 

In  feature,  form  nor  face, 
To  me  my  love  is  lovely 

In  purity  and  grace. 
Her  eyes  are  full  of  lovelight, 

That  shines  for  me  alone  ; 
Her  voice  is  Heaven's  music,  — 

I  love  its  every  tone.       ? 


him  who  will,  take  beauty, 

Take  fashion,  wit  or  grace  ; 
But  give  to  me  the  fairy, 

Who  makes  the  home  her  place. 
A  fire-side  queen  my  love, 

Whose  kingdom  is  my  own, 
Who  makes  my  home  her  palace, 

My  heart  her  regal  throne. 


©rowing 

While  in  the  mirror  gazing, 

There  met  my  startled  eyes 
Assurance  so  amazing, 

It  filled  me  with  surprise  ; 
For  in  its  depths  were  shining, 

L,ike  fairy  threads  astray, 
Among  my  tresses  twining, 

Some  silver  strands  of  gray. 

A  quickened  pang  of  sorrow 
Shot  through  my  smited  frame  ; 

It  seemed  from  grief  to  borrow 
A  sense  I  dare  not  name,  — 


126 

It  woke  the  peace  that  slumbered 
Within  the  arms  of  hope; 

The  years  I  had  not  numbered, 
Were  passing  down  the  slope. 

My  wakened  brain  was  teeming 

With  sad  delinquent  fears, — 
Ah,  where  the  hopes,  and  dreaming, 

And  promise  of  my  years  ? 
I  turn  away  and  shiver, 

As  struck  with  icy  cold: 
Those  silver  threads  a-quiver 

Tell  me  I'm  growing  old. 


/iDater  Dolorosa 

Woman  of  women,  the  pride  of  our  race  ! 
Upturned  to  the  cross  is  thy  lily  white  face  ; 
Pale  as  the  leaves  of  the  hyacinth's  snow, 
A  vision  of  love  in  thy  halo  of  woe  ! 

Close  in  the  shade  of  the  desolate  cross, 
Thy  spirit  was  rent  with  its  infinite  loss  ; 
Kissed  by  the  gloom  that  its  sombreness  threw, 
Each  pang  of  Christ's  flesh  was  re-echoed  in  you  ! 

Watching  bis  breath  in  its  agonized  flow, 
In  grief  that  a  mother-heart  only  can  know  ; 
Sorrowful  mother,  whose  love  was  the  dart, 
That  pierced,  as  thou  gazed,  thro'  thy  quivering  heart  ! 


that  was  lulled  in  its  torturing  throe, 
By  patience  resigned  to  its  measureless  woe  ! 
Sharing  the  pains  of  the  crucifix  tree, 
And  draining  the  cup  of  redemption's  decree  ! 


127 


Yielding  thy  soul  to  the  terrible  strain 

To  follow  thy  son  through  the  furnace  of  pain  ! 

Pattern  of  love,  and  devotion  sublime  ! 

A  model  to  us  through  the  cycles  of  time  ! 

Dolorous  mother  !     Thy  glorified  gain 
Resplendently  shines  through  the  vista  of  pain. 
Womanhood's  glory,  so  peerless  and  pure  ! 
Of  thee  we  shall  learn  to  submit  and  endure  ! 


May  the  musical  chime 

In  this  symphonied  rhyme, 

Be  caught  by  the  winds  and  the  ocean, 

Till  they  sing  of  my  land, 

On  its  sun-flecked  strand, 
And  the  depth  of  a  heart's  devotion  ! 

Oh,  my  Queen  of  the  West ! 

Thou  art  regally  drest, 

On  thy  emerald  throne  reclining  ; 

Lies  the  silver-crowned  bay 

At  thy  feet  all  the  day, 
With  its  lover  arms  round  thee  twining. 

A  Circean  song 

Floats  unconscious  along, 

From  thy  heart,  oh,  my  lovely  valley  ! 

Like  enchantress  of  old, 

From  its  magic  is  rolled 
A  bewitchment  o'er  those  who  dally. 

From  thy  mountains  and  bay, 
them  turn  to  Cathay, 


128 

Or  the  roar  of  the  bold  Atlantic 
They  will  dream  evermore, 
Of  thy  sea  and  its  shore, 

And  pine  for  thy  hills  romantic. 


Ube  3rfsb  Dairies 

A  panoplied  host  long  aeons  ago, 

Embittered  high  heaven  with  discord  and  woe, 

And  straight  to  the  white  empyrean  throne 

Rebellion's  hot  serpentine  hisses  were  blown, 

Outpouring  in  waves  its  fiery  tide, 

Impotently  battling  in  arrogant  pride. 

A  space, — and  the  Lord's  omnipotent  hand 

Swift  hurled  to  their  doom  all  the  traitorous  band. 

Like  meteors  flashed  in  showers  of  flame, 
They  poured  in  a  torrent  of  frenzying  shame. 
Proud  Lucifer,  with  his  satellites,  fell 
Far  down  to  the  terrible  chaos  of  hell  ; 
But  justice,  with  mercy,  pitying  blent, 
And  checked  the  mad  flight  of  avenging  descent  ; 
Some  fell  to  the  earth,  in  wild  wood  and  lea, 
And  myriads  sank  in  the  depths  of  the  sea. 

Far  down  the  abyss  that  angel  of  light 
Now  reigns  as  a  devil  in  caverns  of  night ; 
His  knowledge  and  power  ruling  dark  hell, 
And  frighting  the  world  with  his  terroring  spell. 
The  angels  that  fell  to  the  earth  and  the  sea, 
Retain  a  strange  beauty  and  radiancy  ; 
They  dwell  in  grand  castles  hid  in  the  caves, 
And  crystalline  palaces  under  the  waves. 


129 

They're  known  as  the  Irish  fairies,  whose  sports 
Are  sacred  to  Ireland's  historical  forts  ; 
'Tis  said  that  ofttimes  by  mortals  they're  seen 
In  fanciful  dances  upon  the  soft  green. 
Moreover,  'tis  said,  however  that  be, 
They  covet  the  beautiful  babies  they  see  ; 
To  save  the  dear  babe,  the  mothers  confess, 
They  fasten  some  salt  in  the  folds  of  its  dress. 

Yet  all  the  "  good  people,"  surely  'tis  known, 

Are  gentle  and  innocent  if  let  alone, 

And  freely  they  roam  the  mossiest  banks, 

But  when  they're  disturbed,  play  occasional  pranks. 

The  housewives  all  know  the  power  of  fire 

To  banish  the  charms  of  the  fairies'  hot  ire, 

So  place  a  live  coal  just  under  the  churn, 

And  over  sick  cattle  a  lighted  wisp  burn. 

The  fairies'  low  music,  subtle  and  sweet, 

Soon  weaves  round  the  mortal  enchantment  complete. 

Full  many  a  tale  the  Irish  can  tell 

Of  selves,  and  of  others  witched  by  its  spell ; 

The  magical  notes  in  fairy  raths  played 

Through  Erin's  sweet  harmonies  charmingly  strayed, 

And  binds  with  a  spell  of  tenderest  grace, 

Our  hearts  to  this  land  and  its  legend' ry  race. 


Castles 

In  the  heart  of  the  mountains 
Are  grand  castles  of  gold, 

Where  low  murmuring  fountains 
A  sweet  fragrance  unfold  ; 


130 

Where  bright  columns  are  glowing 
Through  the  crystaline  halls, 

All  their  silver  shafts  flowing 
From  the  mirroring  walls. 

The  soft  atmosphere  throbbing 

With  a  magical  strain, 
Like  the  exquisite  sobbing 

Of  an  ecstasied  pain  ; 
The  sweet  melody  stealing 

From  the  harps  of  pure  gold, 
Till  each  sense  and  each  feeling 

In  its  spell  is  enrolled. 

Here  the  fairy  elves  cluster 

Round  the  fairy  king's  throne, 
Where  Finvarra  can  muster 

All  the  spell-workers  known. 
With  her  golden  hair  streaming, 

Sits  the  beautiful  queen, 
The  jeweled  dew  gleaming 

From  her  gossamer  sheen. 

All  that  magic  can  render 

'Neath  the  glittering  dome, 
For  the  fairy  king's  splendor, 

For  the  fairy  elves'  home, 
Where  the  vintage  of  pleasure 

Is  so  gaily  drunk  up, 
To  the  banquet's  full  measure, 

From  each  flower- shaped  cup. 

Through  the  castle's  gold  portals, 
By  enchantment  and  wile, 

The  most  beautiful  mortals 
Have  abided  awhile  ; 


131 

The  fair  captives  all  bringing 
The  soft  melodies  known, 

In  the  plaintive,  sweet  singin 
Of  Ireland  alone. 


palaces 

Below  the  toppling  waves, 

That  crest  the  sapphire  sea, 
The  fairies  dwell  in  caves 

Of  dreamful  brilliancy  ; 
Beneath  the  ocean's  whirl, 

In  palaces  of  gold, 
Of  jazel  gems  and  pearl, 

And  jasper  multifold. 

Far  down  where  coral  beds 

Bestud  the  crystal  sea, 
Where  climb  the  starry  heads 

Of  salt  anemone  ; 
Amid  the  waving  groves 

Of  grasses,  palms  and  ferns, 
Where  shipwrecked  treasure-troves 

Enrich  the  fairy  urns; 

In  gleaming  splendor  dwell 

The  fairies  of  the  sea, 
And  weave  each  fairy  spell 

With  ocean's  mystery ; 
In  sparkling  banquet  hall, 

That  glows  like  jeweled  mine, 
With  golden  floor  and  topaz  wall, 

They  drink  their  nectared  wine. 


132 

Their  hair,  like  woven  beams 

Of  morning's  early  sun, 
Floats  down  in  shining  streams 

Of  yellow  sunshine  spun  ; 
In  robes  of  silver  foam, 

Inwove  with  pearly  seeds, 
On  moonlight  nights  they  roam 

Upon  their  snow-white  steeds. 

Their  syren  music  rolls 

In  mystic  witchery, 
Enticing  mortal  souls 

Below  the  sapphire  sea. 
Love's  madness  counts  no  cost, 

While  listening  to  the  song  ; 
But  lulled  to  sleep  is  lost 

Among  the  fairy  throng. 


%eprebaun 

Beside  the  green  hedges 

And  yellowing  sheaf, 
Or  under  the  cover 

Of  shady  dock-leaf, 
The  L,eprehaun  nestles, 

And  often  is  met, 
While  busily  working 

Beneath  the  sunset  ; 
The  fairy  shoes  mending 

So  deftly  and  quick, 
His  hammer  outringing 

A  silv'ry  click,  click. 


133 

With  hat  of  three  corners, 

And  dress  of  bright  green, 
The  tricksiest  fairy 

That  ever  was  seen, 
He  knows  all  the  secrets 

Of  deep  hidden  spots, 
And  knows  where  gold  treasure 

Ivies  buried  in  pots. 
He  cobbles  and  cobbks, 

And  hammers  away, 
Half  singing,  half  humming 

A  melody  gay. 

He's  gay  and  capricious, 

Yet  does  a  good  turn, 
And  shows  those  he  fancies, 

The  hidden  gold  urn. 
But  covetous  mortals 

Besiege  him  in  vain  ; 
He  laughs  at  their  struggles 

In  baffling  refrain, 
Entrapping  them  oft  in 

Some  dangerous  trick ; 
But  still  they  keep  watch  for 

His  clinking  click,  click. 

The  dear  little  fellow 

The  Irish  love  well, 
And  many  strange  stories 

Of  I^eprehauns  tell : 
Of  stateliest  castles 

And  families  old, 
In  noblest  positions 

Through  fairy-found  gold ; 


134 

So  eagerly  listen 

To  hear  on  their  way 

His  hammers  click,  clacking 
At  closing  of  day. 

Tick,  tack,  as  he  cobbles 

And  stitches  away  ; 
Click,  clack,  as  he  hammers 

At  sunset  each  day. 
I  wish  I  could  catch  you, 

Gay  lyeprehaun,  bold, 
And  make  you  reveal  me 

A  pot  of  pure  gold  ; 
As  under  the  dock-leaf 

You  tick,  tack  away. 
Click,  clacking,  and  humming 

Your  fairy  song,  gay. 


Ube  Dairies'  Dance 

When  moonlight  is  beaming 

On  greenwood  and  lea, 
The  fairies  come  streaming 

From  mountain  and  sea, 
All  merrily  prancing 

Adown  the  soft  path, 
To  join  in  the  dancing 

That's  held  in  the  rath. 
The  music  floats  sweetly 

From  pipers  unseen, 
Bewitching  completely 

The  fairies  in  green. 


135 

Each  fairy  pair  dashes 

To  dance  the  gay  air, 
While  wave  their  red  sashes, 

And  long  yellow  hair  ; 
Thin  gossamer  dresses 

Around  them  are  rolled, 
And  binding  their  tresses, 

A  band  of  pure  gold. 

Their  voices  low  sighing 

In  echo's  refrain, 
lyike  Autumn  leaves  flying  ; 

A  scampering  train 
Of  elves,  red  and  yellow, 

And  golden-hued  brown, 
On  winds  warm  and  mellow, 

Come  capering  down. 
They  rise  from  the  fountains 

The  moonlight  has  kissed, 
And  float  o'er  the  mountains 

In  purpling  gold  mist, 

To  join  the  gay  dancing 

On  green  sward  at  night, 
Their  starry  eyes  glancing 

In  roguish  delight. 
They  trip  the  gay  measure, 

Retreat  and  advance, 
All  revelling  in  pleasure 

And  frolicsome  dance  ; 
Till  moonlight  is  leaving 

The  circle  and  lea, 
Then  turn,  half  in  grieving, 

To  mountain  and  sea. 


136 

Hmelia  ©pbelia  Jones 

Amelia  Ophelia  Jones  is  the  child  of  my  brother  Ned, 
But  me  and  my  Sal  we  tuk  her  the  day  thet  her  dad  wuz 

dead ; 
We  tended  the  little  kid  jest  the  same  ez  she  'd  been  our 

own ; 
The  midget  would  win  yure  love  ef  yure  heart  wuz  made 

of  stone  ; 
Her  hair  's  like  the  silky  floss  thet  encircles  the  sweetest 

corn, 
And  she  carries  her  head  so  proud  you  'd  think  she's  a 

lady  born  ; 
She  bosses  both  Sal  and  me  with  a  high  and  a  mighty 

air, 
And  we  just  adore  the  mite,  like  a  foolish,  old  doting 

pair. 

The  youngster  wuz  sleek  and  plump,  'twas  a  wonder  the 

•          way  she  grew, 

Till  now  she's  a' most  upgrown  to  a  woman  before  we 

knew. 

The  years  hev  a  startlin'  way  of  a-skipping  so  slyly  by, 
The  gal  makes  us  feel  consid'ble  older,  my  Sal  and  I. 
The  lass  hed  the  best  of  schoolin'  and  learned  all  ther 

wuz  to  learn  ; 
Of  all  of  'em  she  's  on  top,  with  the  highest  of  honors 

her'n. 
I  never  wuz  high  nor  proud,  nor  hankrin*  to  blow  my 

horn, 
But  fellers  that  knowed  Bill  Jones  will   all  know  that 

she's  a  Jones  born. 

She  argifys  brilliantly  on  the  problems  of  church  and 
state ; 


137 

The  parson  and  her  can  beat  all  the  orators  I  heard 

orate ; 
They  talk  of  the  psychic   force  and  the  loves  of  the 

astral  soul  ; 
Of  "  Auras  "  andsich  strange  things,  and  of  "  Karma's  " 

supreme  control  ; 

Of  poets  and  painters  known  in  the  world  of  esthetic  art, 
And  all  of  the  high-toned  lore  thet's  considered  so  grand 

and  smart ; 

In  learning  I'm  no  great  shakes,  but  I  like  elevatin'  chat, 
And  Sal  and  myself  take  pride  in  argyments  high  like 

that. 

But  times,  when  the  gal  is  wrong,  we  reprove  with  old- 
fashioned  zeal ; 
She  gazes  with  lofty  air  while  the  faintest  of  smiles  will 

steal, 
And  break  in  a  calm  disdain,  in  provokingest  kind  of 

way, 
At  all  of  the  wisest  things  thet  my  Sal  and  myself  can 

say. 
Altho'  ther'  be  few  book  words  thro'  our  ornery  language 

flow, 
There  are  a  few  things  in  life  thet  we  flatter  ourselves 

we  know; 
We  might  ez  well  save  our  wind  fer  to  fatten  our  aged 

bones, 
Fer  all  our  opinions  weigh  with  Amelia  Ophelia  Jones  ! 


138 


With  fevered  brow  and  a  throbbing  heart, 

In  the  starlit  dome  of  blue, 
Search  I  the  stars  with  a  wizard's  art, 

Asking  their  secrets  true  ; 

Is  there  work  for  me  in  the  world's  great  mart  ? 
Tell  ;  for  I  long  to  know  ! 
Straight  to  the  task  I'll  go, 
When  I  know  in  this  busy  world  my  part  ! 

Imprisoned  in  by  the  walls  of  home, 

Where  I  sit  with  idle  hands, 
loosing  my  life  in  the  silver  foam, 
Splashing  my  day  dream  lands, 
Will  you  whisper,  stars,  from  your  azure  dome, 
What  is  my  life  to  be  ? 
Whisper,  oh  stars,  to  me, 
"  'Twill  be  deep  and  grand  !     It  shall  not  be  foam  !  " 

Is  mine  the  gift  with  a  magic  hand, 

To  imprison  nature's  tints  ? 
Catching  the  gleams  on  the  sunset  strand, 

Flashing  in  amber  glints  ? 
Or  is  mine  the  gift  of  the  poet  grand, 
Heard  in  the  world  of  song  ? 
Waft  me  the  answer  along,  — 
Is  mine  the  poet,  or  artist's  hand  ? 

Or  mine  the  hands  that  shall  soothe  to  rest 

With  a  warm  and  gentle  touch, 
Clasping  fair  babes  to  my  loving  breast, 

lyOving  and  sufF'ring  much? 

Will  you  whisper,  stars,  from  the  twinkling  West, 
Whisper  the  things  I  ask  ? 
Tell  me  my  lifelong  task, 
Ere  you  steal  away  to  your  place  of  rest  ? 


139 

Within  my  heart  there's  a  wild  desire 

For  Parnassian  heights  divine  ! 
Thrilling  my  soul  with  its  burning  fire, 

Mad'ning  as  ancient  wine  ! 
O'er  the  hills  there  come  from  the  goodly  choir, 
Voices  that  eager  call, — 
Voicing  my  wishes  all ; — 
Shall  my  life  be  here,  or  on  mountains  high'r  ? 

"  Thy  longing  cease  !  oh,  thou  restless  child, 

And  obey  the  hand  divine  ! 
Guiding  thee  on  through  the  world  so  wild, 

Straight  to  the  gates  that  shine  ! 
Thy  appointed  tasks  are  around  thee,  child, 
Close  to  thy  hands  all  day  ; 
Duty  shall  lead  the  way 
To  thy  fond  desires,  with  a  hand  most  mild  !  " 


Xe0ent>  of  tbe  tbelfotrope 

An  aged  man  lay  dying 

In  a  lonely  prairie  home  ; 
Once  more  'mid  youthful  pleasures 

All  his  senses  seemed  to  roam. 
He  sang  in  low,  sweet  snatches, 

And  he  talked  of  flowing  streams  ; 
The  little  cabin  echoed 

With  the  murmuring  of  his  dreams. 

His  little  grandson  wondered, 
As  he  stood  beside  the  bed, 

And  listened  to  the  talking, 

And  the  strange,  odd  things  he  said 


140 

The  infant's  heart  was  troubled, 
For  he  thought  it  "  wasn't  right  " 

To  sing  and  talk  so  strangely, 
With  a  face  so  full  of  light ! 

He  went  beyond  the  doorway, 

Where  he  knelt  in  earnest  pray'r  ; 
Right  through  the  blue  of  heaven, 

In  the  cool  and  silent  air, 
Upwent  the  childish  sorrow 

To  the  mercy  seat  of  God. 
The  old  man's  cause  thus  pleaded, 

He  arose  up  from  the  sod, 

And  went  into  the  cabin, 

Where  the  old  man  lay  so  still; 
Caressed  by  baby  fingers, 

Once  again  an  earthly  thrill 
Went  through  the  dying  body 

As  he  answered  with  a  smile; 
The  childish  face  grew  brighter, 

Though  it  trembled  all  the  while. 

He  left  the  form  so  silent, 

While  he  knelt  again  in  pray'r  ; 
'Twas  then  the  angel  blest  him, 

As  he  knelt  so  earnest  there. 
From  out  a  hand  there  floated, 

Till  it  rested  at  his  side, 
A  little  purple  flower, 

And  it  nestled  there  in  pride. 

The  old  man  threw  it  earthward, 
As  his  spirit  soared  away, — 

It  was  the  angel's  token 
Of  a  new-born  brighter  day. 


141 


And  thus  was  sent  from  Heaven, 
From  the  pure,  white  hand  of  Hope, 

The  purple,  star-eyed  flower 
Of  the  fragrant  heliotrope. 

Whene'er  a  prayer  is  wafted 

To  the  throne  of  God  above, 
From  hearts  sincere  and  earnest 

For  the  soul  of  one  they  love, 
This  lovely  flower  springeth, 

I4ke  a  sunbeam  through  the  gloom, 
And,  scarce  the  prayer  is  ended, 

Till  it  somewhere  bursts  in  bloom. 


TObtcb? 

"  Will  you  live  by  the  quick  or  dead  ?  " 

Curious,  questioned  I, 
As  a  maid  o'er  her  lover  shed 

Tears  that  were  soon  to  dry  ; 
And  her  answer  so  swiftly  flew, — 
"  I'll  to  my  love  be  true  !  " 
In  a  year  when  I  asked  again, 
Slowly  she  answered  then  : 

"  Should  we  live  by  the  mould' ring  clay 

Under  the  graveyard  sod  ? 
Shall  we  grope  our  benighted  way, 

Shadowed  till  life  is  trod  ? 
Shall  we  call  a  dark  cloud  of  dread 
Up  from  death's  clammy  bed, 
Till  the  chill  of  its  reeking  mold 
Wraps  us  within  its  fold  ?  " 


142 

Then  I  asked  of  a  widowed  wife, 

When  a  few  years  had  sped, 
Were  the  threads  of  her  severed  life 

Held  by  the  quick  or  dead  ? 
She  replied,  "In  my  memory 
Dear  are  the  dead  to  me  ! 
Shall  I  live  by  their  fleshless  sway, 
Flushing  in  life's  heyday  ? ' ' 

But  she  said,  in  the  latter  years 

After  her  youth  had  fled, 
"  O'er  our  joys  a  light  film  veers, 

Breathed  by  the  pulseless  dead  ; 
And  our  loved  that  are  laid  away, 
Float  from  their  furrowed  clay  ! 
And  the  flame  of  all  new-found  bliss 
Chills  in  their  jealous  kiss  !  " 

Then  I  questioned  an  aged  dame, 

Crowned  with  a  snow-white  head, 
And  her  answer  in  sadness  came  : 
"Swiftly  life's  sands  have  sped  ! 
Ah,  the  dead,  they  are  cherished  dear, 
Dearer  as  they  come  near  ! 
Yet  I  yearn  with  a  heart  that's  sick, — 
Yearn  for  the  loving  quick  ! 

"  But  the  dead, — how  they  hover  nigh, 

Close  to  my  blanching  face  ! 
'  You  must  come  !  you  must  come  ! '  they  cry,- 

'  Come  to  our  cold  embrace  ! ' 
How  they  laugh  at  our  fear  and  dread  ! — 
They  of  the  fearless  dead  ! 
'Tis  the  dead  to  the  dying  call, — 
They  that  are  ruling  all  !  " 


143 


flDarguerlte 

Oh,  tangled  tresses  of  waving  light, 
So  wayward  and  wildly  forlorn, 

Framing  in  with  thy  golden  strands, 
A  face  like  the  eastern  morn  ! 

Divinest  eyes  of  translucent  blue, 
A  gift  that  the  angels  have  sent, 

Gazing  out  on  this  lovely  world 
In  innocent  wonderment ! 

A  trackless  star  from  the  studded  dome, 
That  flew  to  our  wondering  land, 

Earthward  borne  in  thy  eager  flight, 
To  join  our  earthly  band  ! 

Oh,  not  more  fair  is  the  snow-white  flower 
We  christened  for  thee,  little  sweet ; 

Pure  as  pearl,  with  its  heart  of  gold, 
The  radiant  marguerite ! 

Oh,  Marguerite  !   May  thy  days  be  all 
As  bright  as  thy  beautiful  youth  ; 

Ever  shine  from  thine  eyes  so  blue 
The  radiant  soul  of  truth  ! 


Beloved's 

Beautiful  orbs  of  liquid  light ! 

Flashing  beams  of  electrical  fire  ! 
Thy  rays  put  evil  shadows  to  flight, 

And  prove  base  passion's  funeral  pyre. 
Oh,  they  shine  on  me  with  a  light  divine, 

And  awake  in  my  soul  a  fear, 

So  innocent,  pure  and  dear, — 
Should  I  dare  to  call  them  mine? 


144 


Beautiful  eyes,  belov'd  and  true ! 

Guiding  stars  through  the  journey  of  life  ! 
Beloved  eyes  that  shine  as  I  woo, 

And  banish  the  shades  of  worry  and  strife. 
A  fount  of  bliss  is  their  light  to  me  ; 

Oh,  their  depths  I  would  test  if  I  durst ; 

I'd  drink  with  a  lover's  thirst, 
And  be  happy  eternally. 

Wonderful  eyes  !   That  stay  with  me  ! 

Peeping  out  through  my  toil  each  hour. 
Companions  dear, — none  dearer  can  be, 

Nor  wield  a  stronger  psychical  pow'r  ! 
They  have  checked  my  steps  on  the  brink  of  sin, 

And  my  hands  in  temptations  stayed  ; 

Their  eloquent  muteness  arrayed, 
Doth  from  passion  the  vict'ry  win. 

Beautiful  eyes  !  I  love  so  well, 

Draw  thee  close  that  I  may  searchingly  gaze 
To  read  the  fate  my  beloved  shall  tell, 

Clear  mirrored  there,  untarnished  by  haze  ! 
Ah,  beloved  eyes,  can  I  trust  my  own  ? 

'Tis  myself,  in  thine  eyes  divine  ! 

And  thou, — thou  dost  shine  in  mine  ! 
Ah,  beloved  eyes  !     Mine  own  ! 


145 

"3-  Bon't  Care!" 

"  I  don't  care  "  went  travelling  along 

In  a  happy,  careless  way, 
Whistling  and  singing  a  jolly  song, 

And  laughing  the  livelong  day: 
"Who'd  be  sad  or  grumble  and  moan 

In  a  place  so  full  of  bliss  ? 
Fie  !  upon  those  who  will  sigh  and  groan 
In  a  jolly  old  world  like  this  !  " 

So  he  flitted  on  like  a  bird, 

As  it  flits  from  tree  to  tree  ; 
Ever  the  same  was  the  song  I  heard, — 

A  discordant  jar  to  me  ! 
"  Oh,  the  world  is  jolly  and  gay, 

And  a  living  owes  to  all ! 
Merrily  sing,  for  the  world  will  pay, 

If  you  only  upon  her  call  !  " 

In  the  kindest,  friendliest  voice, 
"  I  don't  care  "  called  out  to  me  ; 
Heeded  not  I,  for  I'd  made  my  choice, 

And  I  turned  from  his  company. 
'Tis  a  good  and  jolly  old  world, 

But  she  keeps  a  reckoning  day  ; 
Grimly  she  smiles  when  the  scroll's  unfurled 

And  her  creditors  call  for  pay  ! 

"  I  don't  care"  kept  on  his  own  way, 

And  he  neither  toiled  nor  spun  ; 
Somehow  he  thrived,  and  was  always  gay, 

And  his  life  was  a  merry  one. 
But  when  Wisdom  spoke,  "  I  don't  care  " 

Was  amused  at  foolish  fears, 
Answering  her  with  a  careless  air  : 
"  What's  the  odds  in  a  hundred  years  ?  " 


146 

So  I  left  the  gay  "  I  don't  care," 

And  I  toiled  with  earnest  hands  ; 
Willing  old  world  with  a  ready  air, 

Made  a  response  to  my  bold  demands. 
In  the  after  years  of  my  life, 

When  the  sands  were  running  low, 
Garnered  the  sheaves  of  my  toil  and  strife, 

And  I'd  reaped  what  the  toilers  sow, 

I  was  riding  out  on  the  road 

On  a  sunny  summer  day, 
Close  to  the  walls  of  the  poor's  abode, 

Where  they  finish  their  checkered  way. 
There  I  saw  the  decrepit  and  lame, 

And  the  bowed  old  forms  of  age, — 
Saw  in  their  eyes  a  regretful  shame, 

As  they  glanced  from  the  well-worn  page  ! 

And  I  rode  right  on  through  the  field, 
Where  the  stronger  were  at  work  ; 

Charity's  crust  she  will  seldom  yield, 
If  the  pleader  her  duties  shirk. 

As  I  gazed  and  loosened  the  lines, 
"  I  don't  care  "  looked  up  in  alarm, — 

Picking  the  fruit  from  the  bending  vines 
In  the  field  of  the  Poor-House  farm  ! 


Beat) 


Voices  whisper  gently, 

And  footsteps  lightly  tread 

In  the  sombre  stillness,  — 
Baby's  dead  ! 


147 

Snow-white  baby  blossom, 
That  lies  so  still  and  cold, 

Gathered  by  the  reaper, 
Grim  and  bold  ! 

Coffined  in  the  tresses, 

That  crown  the  golden  head, 
Mother's  dreams  lie  buried, — 

Baby's  dead  ! 

Passers-by  are  saddened. 

When  told  the  message  dread, 
Told  by  flutt'ring  ribbons, — 

Baby's  dead  ! 

Past  the  mournful  portal 

Is  hushed  each  merry  tone  ; 
Pray'r  springs  up  with  pity, — 
' '  Spare  my  own  ! ' ' 

Brooding  shadows  thicken 

Whence  late  the  spirit  fled, 
Murmuring  as  they  gather, 
"Baby's  dead!" 

Eyes  grow  round  and  earnest  ; 

All  trace  of  mirth  is  fled, 
As  the  children  whisper, — 
"Baby's  dead  !" 

Awed  and  strangely  silenced, 
As  first  their  young  feet  stand 

'Neath  the  shade  of  Death's  dim 
Border  land  ! 

Conscious  of  the  power 

Its  nameless  terrors  shed  ; 
Bach  to  each  in  wonder, — 
"  Baby's  dead  !" 


148 

Gentle  faces  linger 

Above  the  casket  bed, 
Where  God's  priceless  jewel, — 

Baby's  dead  ! 

Gleaming  angels  hover 

Beside  the  satin  bier, 
To  the  anguished  mother 

Drawing  near. 

Soothing  bitter  sorrow, 

They  chant  around  her  head, 
"  Lord,  thy  will  be  done  !  "     Though 
Baby's  dead  ! 

Scatter  fairest  flowers, 

Where  rests  the  pillowed  head  ; 
Let  their  fragrance  whisper, — 
"  Baby's  dead  !  " 

Fairest  budding  blossoms, 
That  bloom  on  earth  below, 

Pure  as  new-born  flakes  of 
Drifting  snow ! 

Incense  meet  to  tender 
With  angel's  censers  shed, 

Karth  with  heaven  mingling, — 
Baby's  dead  ! 


Uwo  TOnfcows 

I  know  two  wonderful  windows  of  light, 
Whose  opallent  beams  are  my  dearest  delight ; 
I  love  to  watch  all  their  radiant  rays, 
And  oft  on  their  splendor  I  earnestl}'-  gaze. 


149 

In  casement  rare  and  of  wondrous  design, 
They  rest  in  a  suitable,  beautiful  shrine  ; 
No  mullioned  dream,  by  the  architects  graced, 
K'er  rivalled  the  curves  that  above  them  are  traced. 

The  house  is  grand,  of  symmetrical  shape, 
As  ever  was  gauged  by  an  architect's  tape  ; 
'Tis  wondrous  fair,  but  the  windows  are  few  ; 
In  fact  you  will  find  that  there  are  but  two. 

Their  curtains  are  of  the  snowiest  white, 
And  trimmed  with  a  fringe  that  is  blacker  than  night ; 
They  sometimes  fall  when  I'm  gazing  too  strong  ; 
I  then  turn  away  lest  they  stay  so  too  long. 

So  oft  I  gaze  while  the  light  o'er  them  climbs, — 
To  you  I  will  tell  what  I  see  there  at  times: 
Four  forms  there  come  to  these  windows  of  mine, 
That  beam  out  on  me  with  a  varying  shine. 

Two  forms  in  white,  that  are  oftenest  there, 
Are  forms  that  are  beautiful  beyond  compare  ; 
They  cast  a  soft,  opallescent-like  glow, 
That  comforts  my  heart  in  its  bitterest  woe. 

They  beam  with  joy,  and  they  smile  when  I  smile  ; 
They  weep  when  I  weep,  and  are  sad  all  the  while ; 
They  beckon  with  hands  that  are  stainless  as  snow, 
And  call  me  in  tones  that  are  thrillingly  low. 

Their  shining  eyes  are  so  warm  and  so  chaste, 
Of  paradise  here  they're  the  sweetest  foretaste  ; 
They've  won  my  love  with  their  innocent  art, 
And  ever  from  them  I,  reluctant,  depart. 

Two  other  forms  to  these  windows  there  come, — 
I'm  glad  'tis  not  oft,  for  they're  savage  and  glum  ; 
In  sableine  garments,  encircled  in  flame, 
They  glare  out  at  me  in  a  frenzy  of  shame. 


150 


Their  raging  scorn  and  their  fiery  wrath 
Are  fierce  as  a  cyclone's  demolishing  path  ; 
Their  eyes  are  wild  and  their  voices  wax  high'r, 
Exhaling  a  tempest  of  withering  fire. 


threaten  me  as  they  gesture  there 
Like  fiends  fierce,  of  incarnate  despair  ; 
My  heart  grows  sad  when  these  rebels  I  see, 
And  grieves  for  the  banished  in  deep  sympathy. 

I  know  the  others  will  come  back  again 
And  smooth  from  my  brow  every  trace  of  my  pain 
For  brief  is  the  stay  of  these  forms  that  I  hate, 
So,  still  by  my  windows  I  lovingly  wait  ! 


$n  a  Gbuvcb 

I  sat  alone  in  a  church, 

As  the  evening  shadows  fell, 
And  heard  the  angelus  ring 

From  the  silver-throated  bell. 
A  nimbus  of  amethyst  light 

From  the  vigiled  tapers  leapt, 
And  streamed  o'er  altar  and  niche, 

As  the  shadows  denser  crept. 

A  softened  reverie  stole 

Through  the  wint'ry  twilight's  gloom, 
And  peopled  every  pew 

With  the  dwellers  of  the  tomb. 
I  saw  the  friends  of  my  youth, 

As  they  came  in  silent  file, 
And  took  their  usual  place 

In  their  own  accustomed  aisle. 


151 

With  them  I  knelt  once  again, 

And  I  noted  every  grace, 
That  charmed  my  innocent  youth 

In  each  dear,  familiar  face. 
I  met  the  glance  of  a  few, 

Who  were  dearer  than  the  rest  ; 
Whose  tender  smile  sent  a  thrill 

Through  my  happy,  peaceful  breast. 

The  service  hour  had  come, 

And  subdued  the  patt'ring  rush  ; 
All  hearts  were  turned  to  the  shrine, 

In  a  soft,  expectant  hush  ! 
But  lo  !  from  the  sanctuary  door 

Came  no  priest  in  robes  of  white, — 
'Twas  but  the  sexton  who  came 

With  his  wand  of  waxen  light. 

He  chased  the  shadows  away 

And  dispelled  my  reverie  ; 
The  empty  pews  were  all  left 

To  the  sexton  and  to  me. 
'Twas  but  an  echo  from  youth, 

With  its  trembling  chord  of  tears, 
That  floated  out  in  the  gloom, 
Through  the  chastening  frosts  of  years 


tfrienfc 

Amid  the  whirl  of  pleasure's  giddy  train, 

My  trusting  heart  found  foolish,  fond  delight, 
And  with  all  bright  frivolities  bedight, 
Upheld  with  confidence  her  regal  reign, 
Nor  dreamed  it  held  aught  false,  deceptive,  vain  ! 
My  vision,  blurred,  confused  with  garish  light, 


152 

In  darkest  grief  regained  its  stricken  sight, 
And  saw  the  falsity  through  tears  of  pain. 
Each  brilliant  flatterer  right  swiftly  fled 
From  joyless  gloom;  but  one  returned  to  me 

From  out  the  past,  unsought,  soft  tears  to  blend 
In  watch  with  me  beside  my  silent  dead  ; 
And  in  that  lonely  night  of  misery — 

Though  long  estranged, — I  learned  to  know  my  friend  ! 


2>e  profunfcfs 


A   PRAYER 


Out  of  the  depths,  oh  Lord,  I  cry  ! 
Smited  into  the  dust  I  lie  ; 
Harsh  disappointments,  close  and  fast, 
'Whelm  me  in  their  icy  blast. 
Listen,  oh  Lord,  and  hear  my  cry, 
Lest  in  despair  I  madly  die  ! 
Suffering  Master,  thou  didst  know 
Bitterer  depths  of  anguished  woe  ! 
Prayed  that  the  chalice  pass  away, — 
So  unto  thee  I  humbly  pray. 
Let  not  my  cry  be  breathed  in  vain, 
Thou  who  hast  suffered  mortal  pain  ! 
Take  from  my  lips  this  bitter  cup  ! 
Stretch  out  thy  hand  and  raise  me  up  ! 
Yet,  oh  my  Saviour,  Lord  divine, 
Humbly  my  will  submits  to  thine  ! 
Drowning  in  waves  of  misery, 
Master,  my  Master,  save  thou  me  ! 
Out  of  the  depths  wherein  I  lie, 
Answer,  oh  Lord,  my  stricken  cry  ! 
Take  from  my  lips  this  bitter  cup  ! 
Stretch  out  thy  hand  and  raise  me  up  ! 


153 

jfatber  Bamfen 

Out  from  humanity's  prison  hell 

Floated  deep  moans  of  hopeless  despair, 

Wrung  from  sad  hearts  in  a  tortured  knell  ; 
Borne  on  the  stolid,  leprous  air  ; 

Wafted  along  like  a  raven  crew, 

Shrouding  the  sun  in  Heaven's  blue  ! 

Damien  heard,  and  the  echoed  moan 

Swept  through  his  soul  a  torrent  of  flame  ; 

Borne  on  the  breath  of  the  sobbing  tone, 
Voices  from  God  in  whispers  came  ! 

Voices  that  spoke  of  a  dreadful  theme,  . 

Worse  than  a  fiend's  ghoulish  dream. 

Deep  in  his  blood  was  the  message  burned, 
Quivering  beneath  the  terrible  brand, 

Back  to  its  fount  with  a  shiver  turned, 
Trembling  beneath  the  master's  hand, 

Reckoning  all  of  the  fearful  cost, 

Asked  for  these  souls  despairing,  lost ! 

Smiling,  he  turned  from  the  land  he  knew, 
Turned  to  the  leper's  land  of  despair, 

Wistfully  gazing  his  last  adieu  ! 

Turned  to  that  charnel's  seething  air, 

Answ'ring  swift  to  his  master's  call, 

Giving  to  love  his  life,  his  all ! 

Terrible  forms  in  the  shadows  stept, 
Spectres  that  made  the  senses  recoil, 

Into  the  dreams  of  the  sleepers  crept, 
Weaving  a  daily  tightening  coil. 

Woefulest  land,  where  at  every  turn 

Horrible  visions  scorch  and  burn  ! 


154 


Into  this  land  of  lurid  death, 

Answ'ring  the  voice  that  Jesus  had  sent, 
Mingling  his  life  with  each  fetid  breath, 

Knowing  his  doom, — he  bravely  went. 
Shepherd  of  Christ,  thy  appointed  way 
Close  to  the  waves  of  Marah  lay  ! 

Fanning  bright  faith  in  each  dying  heart, 
Till  the  pure  flames  that  flickered  so  low, 

Up  from  the  deadening  embers  start, 
Bidding  its  warm  diffusive  glow 

Banish  the  spectres  of  fierce  despair, 

Surging  in  sickening  thickness  there. 

Bending  o'er  forms  with  a  loving  care  ; 

Shunned  by  the  friends  once  dearest  and  best; 
Spreading  peace  in  the  wretched  air  ; 

Minist'riug  to  the  restless — rest  ! 
Bringing  the  light  of  a  shining  grace 
Into  each  cankered,  ghastly  face. 

Snatching  their  souls  from  a  damning  despair  ; 

Healing  the  fierce,  dark  spasms  of  hate  ; 
Changing  the  curse  to  a  contrite  pray'r  ; 

Calming  the  fears  of  a  nearing  fate  ; 
Work  that  was  meet  for  a  priestly  vow  ; 
Gems  that  befit  a  martyr's  brow. 

Seraph  of  light  to  that  darkened  isle  ! 

Rift  in  the  sky  of  terrible  gloom  ! 
Sparkle  of  hope  !     For  a  fleeting  while 

Lighting  the  depths  of  that  living  tomb  ! 
Doing  the  work  of  thy  priestly  hands  ! 
Watching  the  flow  of  thy  ebbing  sands  ! 

Seeds  of  our  faith  from  thy  lonely  grave, 
Far  in  that  arid,  desolate  isle, 


155 

Floating  along  o'er  the  ocean  wave, 

Come  like  the  ghost  of  thy  sweet  smile, 
Into  our  hearts  from  thy  life  divine, 
Seeds  of  the  fire  that  burnt  in  thine  ! 

Ne'er  shalt  thou  trail  in  the  lowly  dust, 

Standard  of  Christ  !     Of  faith  that  is  ours  ! 

Cherished  and  held  as  a  sacred  trust, 
High  over  all  sublimely  tow'rs. 

Ne'er  shalt  thou  stoop  in  that  humbling  kiss, 

Borne  by  such  hero  priests  as  this  ! 


Brunfearfc's  Song 

Fill  higher  !  higher  ! 

Up  to  the  brim  ! 
Let  the  rosy  sparkles 

Kiss  the  uppermost  rim  ! 
How  they  rush,  and  tumble,  and  chase  each  other, 

Surging  about  like  living  things  ! 
Bach  globuled  heart  in  tuneful  whispers, 
Like  a  cymbal  rings  ! 

Fill  higher  !  higher  ! 
Up  with  the  tide  ! 
Let  the  blood-stained  waters 
Mark  no  ebb  to  their  ride  ! 
Let  the  warm,  red  waves  of  Nepenthe's  vintage 

Drown  dark  thought  in  deluged  flow  ! 
Then  higher  fill  !     We'll  woo  the  syrens 
In  the  depths  below. 

Ah,  lower  !  lower  ! 

Down  with  the  tide  ! 
As  it  rises  upward, 

Lower  !  lower  I  glide  ! 


156 


Though  I  hear  the  hiss  of  the  billows  foaming, 
Surging  above  my  sinking  soul, — 

Fill  higher  still !     Here's  bold  defiance 
To  their  threat' ning  roll ! 


©ur 

A  laughing,  dancing  sprite, 

That  fills  our  house  with  joy, 
And  thrills  our  hearts  with  foolish  dreams 

For  darling  baby  boy  ! 

What  if  his  tiny  hands 

New  mischief  find  each  day, 
And  into  Babel  turns  the  house, 
When  baby  deigns  to  play  ! 

What  if  he  beats  the  drum 

And  loudly  toots  his  horn, 
O'er  blocks  and  chairs  in  martial  line 

Our  dignity  is  shorn  ! 

What  if  this  autocrat 

Our  reading  pulls  aside, 
While  through  our  hair  and  loved  mustache 

The  baby  fingers  glide  ! 

What  if  at  midnight's  hour 

He  yells  in  coliced  pain, 
To  stop  the  noise  we  trot  the  floor, 

But  walk  and  trot  in  vain  ! 

What  if  our  hearts  are  tried 

By  mishaps  oft  and  dire, 
Still  of  our  darling  baby  boy 

We  never,  never  tire  ! 


157 

Ah,  lone  and  sad  the  hours 
That  know  no  baby  dear  ! 

The  heart  has  lost  its  sweetest  joy 
That  clasps  no  baby  near  ! 

Tho'  patient  love  is  taxed 
By  tricks  of  fingers  bold, 

We'd  not  exchange  our  baby  boy 
For  mines  of  shining  gold  ! 


Ube  transfiguration 

Softly  the  evening's  shadows  fell 

Over  the  hills  of  Galilee  ! 
Sweetly  the  daylight's  dying  knell 

Sounded  o'er  vale,  o'er  slope  and  sea  ! 
As  to  Mt.  Thabor,  high  and  drear, 

Silently  drew  four  men  to  pray: 
Peter  and  James,  and  John  most  dear, 

Praying  with  Christ  at  close  of  day  ! 

Jesus,  our  L,ord  !     In  humble  pray'r ! 

Kneeling  in  lordly  majesty  ; 
Humblest  of  all  so  humble  there  ! 

Ruler  of  kings,  of  earth  and  sea, 
Calling  on  God  for  help  and  strength  ! 

Knowing  the  full  and  bitter  meed, 
Waiting  his  footsteps'  measured  length  ; 

Asking  for  help  in  sorest  need  ! 

Over  them  fell  a  softened  light, 

Streaming  in  silv'ry  shower  unspun, 

Ivustrous  as  snow  Christ's  garments  white, 
Dazzling  his  face  as  noonday  sun  ! 


158 


Low  came  his  voice  to  Peter's  ear, 

Quick  went  the  faithful  soul's  reply: 
"  I^ord,  it  is  good  for  us  to  be  here  !  " 
Scarce  had  he  ceased,  a  vision  nigh 

Burst  on  his  startled,  wondering  sight, 

Standing  by  Christ  two  forms'  were  seen 
In  the  soft  glow  of  circling  light: 

Moses,  in  clouds  whose  veiling  sheen 
Tempered  celestial  beauty's  breath  ; 

Close  at  his  side  Elias  came, — 
Glorified  flesh  that  knew  not  death, 

Tinging  the  clouds  with  mortal  flame  ! 

Down  from  the  sky  a  golden  wave, 

Gleaming  in  gold  and  silvered  blue, 
Kissing  the  Master's  brow  so  grave, 

Over  them  all  its  glory  threw  ! 
Out  from  the  waving  brightness  came 

Clearly  a  voice,  whose  melody 
Shot  through  each  heart  like  holy  flame, 

Quivering  with  sweetest  sympathy: 

' '  This  is  my  son  !  who  pleaseth  me  ! 

Mine  most  belov'd  !  Hear  ye  him  ! ' ' 
Gazing  in  awe  these  holy  three 

Drank  from  the  vision's  gloried  brim, 
Drank  till  they  fell  confused,  amazed, 

Falling  prostrate,  unconscious,  awed  ! 
Jesus  them  touched,  they  rose  and  gazed  ; 

Gone  was  the  cloud  that  held  their  God  ! 

Roused  by  the  touch  of  Jesus'  hand, 

Calmed  by  his  voice  their  trembling  fears, 

Down  from  the  mount  that  little  band 
Went  to  their  fate  of  woe  and  tears  ! 


159 


Yet  in  the  years,  so  lone  and  tried, 

Came  to  them  oft  Christ's  pale  sweet  face, — 
Just  as  they  saw  it  glorified,  — 

Filling  their  souls  with  patient  grace  ! 


Scotts's 

Around  the  office  gathered 

A  dozen  boys  or  less, 
All  waiting  for  the  papers 

From  out  the  evening  press, 
When  up  spoke  one  bright  fellow, 

And  hushed  the  chatt'ring  noise: 
"  I  s'pose  I  needn't  tell  you 
To-morrow  is  Thanksgiven',  boys  ! 

"  For  that's  a  fact,  I'm  certain 

That  all  you  fellers  knew  ; 
There's  none  of  us  forgettin' 
The  spread  we're  goin'  to. 
For  some  of  us  been  dreamin' 
A  fortnit — mebbe  more — 
About  the  temptin'  dinner 
Our  bosses  hev  in  store. 

"  I  want  to  mention  sumthin' 

The  crowd  hed  most  forgot: 
Now,  this  Thanksgiven'  dinner, 

We're  missing  little  Scot  ; 
It  seems,  somehow  onnateral 

Thet  we  should  all  forget 
We  loved  the  little  feller, 

And  made  the  mite  our  pet. 


160 


"  So  I've  ben  thinkin'  sumthin' 

To  prove  our  hearts  are  true, 
And  so  he'll  know  that  Scotty's 

Remembered  still  by  you. 
He's  dead  ? — Well  what's  the  dift'rence 

He'll  know  it  just  the  same, 
And  he'll  be  mighty  tickled 

To  think  we  called  his  name. 

' '  And  though  we  can't  do  nothin' 

For  Scot,  our  little  pet, 
We'll  try  to  help  his  mother, 

To  show  we  don't  forget. 
For  she  is  poor  and  lonely, 

And  stiff  with  rheumatiz', 
A-settin',  cryin', — mebbe — 

To  think  where  Scotty  is  ! 

' '  Now  her  Thanksgiven'  dinner 

Comes  from  us  paper  boys, 
And  so  we'll  take  subscriptions 

Widout  much  furder  noise. 
But  let  me  also  mention 

Right  here  as  we  begin, 
This  gang  has  got  no  use  for 

The  chaps  that  won't  chip  in  !  " 

But  every  boy  right  manly 

Stept  forth  and  gave  his  share, 
Until  to  buy  that  dinner 

Was  plenty  and  to  spare. 
Then  each  went  off  to  duty, 

Deliv'ring  papers  all, 
And  faithfully  returning 

To  wait  their  leader's  call. 


161 

Then  marching  all  together, 

Equipped  with  goodly  store, 
They  marched  with  solemn  faces, 

And  rapped  upon  the  door. 
Unto  the  widow's  answer, 

Went  in,  in  martial  file, 
Presenting  her  their  bundles 

With  courtly  grace  and  style. 

' '  This  here  is  your  Thanksgiven'  ' 

The  smiling  speaker  said  ; 
"  It's  from  us  paper  fellows, 

Because  our  Scotty's  dead. 
You  see,  we'd  like  to  show  him 

Us  fellows  don't  forget, 
And  so's  we  help  his  mother, 
He'll  know  we  love  him  yet  !  " 


%ines 

WRITTEN  IN  A  FRIEND'S  ALBUM 

'Tis  said  that  once  our  paths  have  crossed, 
The  friendship  formed  is  never  lost ; 
And  though  diverging  far  and  wide, 
We  meet  again  "beyond  the  tide." 

Thus  bound  by  friendship's  holy  spell, 
In  mem'ry's  temple  I  would  dwell. 
If  lurks  perchance  one  prisoned  dart, 
Forgive  the  hot,  impassioned  heart. 

For  every  action,  great  or  small, 
One  high  desire  governed  all. 
Rememb'ring  this, — forget  the  rest  ! 
And  gently  say,  "  She  did  her  best !  " 


162 

«P 

Uwo  travelers 

Two  travelers  trod  the  path  of  life, 

And  trilled  meanwhile  a  merry  lay  ; 
Its  joyous  cadence,  light  and  free, 

Beguiled  and  soothed  their  weary  way. 
At  length  they  reached  a  mountain  side, 

Where  wound  a  roadway  from  its  base  ; 
Here  Fame  held  out  her  shining  hands, 

And  beckoned  them  with  smiling  face. 

All  round  her  glowed  a  wond'rous  light ; 

Refulgent  rays  in  sparkling  gleams, 
Shot  out  from  winding  mountain  curves, 

To  rouse  the  spirit's  wildest  dreams. 
Far  o'er  the  distant  summit  shone 

A  halo  cloud  of  streaming  gold, 
Whose  burnished  flames,  like  breathing  fire, 

Inspired  the  soul  with  courage  bold  ! 

Led  onward  by  this  holy  fire, 

They  left  the  lowland  path  behind, 
To  follow  in  the  glowing  light, 

And  round  the  mountain  roadway  wind. 
Tho'  falt'ring  oft  o'er  stony  ways, 

Those  shining  arms  and  smiling  face 
But  pointed  to  the  summit's  crown, 

And  won  them  on  to  quickened  pace. 

Midway  upon  the  mountain  road, 

A  verdant  landscape  met  their  eye  ; 
Here  Cupids  dwelt  'mid  flowers  and  ease, 

And  drained  the  bliss  from  hours  that  fly. 
Here  I^ove  held  out  her  rosy  hands, 

And  beckoned  to  the  weary  hearts, 
Inviting  them  to  sweet  repose, 

And  wooing  from  ambition's  arts. 


163 


The  travelers  paused,  delighted,  gazed 

Upon  the  lovely  scene  of  bliss, 
And  one,  with  lover's  ardent  zeal, 

Endowed  her  hands  with  lover's  kiss. 
Oh,  Love  !"  he  cried,  "with  thee  I'll  stay  ; 

Content  to  live,  to  die  with  thee  ! 
Thy  smile,  my  life — thine  arms,  my  world  ! 

Oh,  wondrous  I/ove  !     But  love  thou  me  !" 

The  other  gazed  and  turned  on  Fame, 

Whose  glitt'ring  smile  upon  him  beamed  : 

' '  Divinest  mistress  of  my  soul, 

For  thee  I  toil ; — of  thee  I  dreamed  ! 
Tho'  ambushed  perils  lie  in  wait, 

My  heart  defies  all  base  alarms, 

And  boldly  scales  the  mountain  steep, 

To  seek  its  heaven  in  thy  arms  !" 

O'er  slipp'ry  stones  and  rough  hewn  ways, 

The  mountain's  height  he  gained  at  last  ; 
He  stood  beneath  the  gloried  crown, 

Its  streaming  splendor  round  him  cast. 
The  hallowed  praise  from  wond'ring  crowds, 

With  scented  incense  wrapped  him  round  ; 
The  murmured  music's  rhythmic  thrill 

Pulsating  joy's  celestial  sound. 

And  then  he  turned  with  eager  warmth, 

A  lover's  ardor  on  his  brow, 
Those  shining  arms  his  own  would  greet ; 

That  smiling  face  would  bless  him  now  ! 
The  flimsy  Vision  mocked  his  grasp, 

And  standing  on  the  summit  there, 
He  caught  a  phantom  to  his  breast, 

And  pressed  his  lips  to  scented  air  ! 


164 

perseus 

'Neath  the  cloudless  skies  of  fair  Seriphos, 
Young  Perseus  weaved  ambition's  dream, 

And  revelled  in  the  glorious  dyes, 

While  floating  along  in  its  limpid  stream. 

For  his  youthful  soul  aglow  with  its  fire, 

Was  hung'ring  for  deeds  both  fierce  and  great  ! 
Oh,  mighty  Zeus  !  and  Pallas  !  "  he  cried, 
"  Let  valorous  deeds  be  my  life  and  fate  !  " 

For  Medusa's  head  the  treacherous  King 

Sent  Perseus  forth  on  willing  quest, 
As  weary,  worn,  and  far  from  his  home, 

He  lay  on  enchanted  ground  to  rest, 

At  his  side  bright  Pallas  Athene  stood, 
And  spoke  to  the  youth  in  thrilling  tones: 

Dost  seek  great  deeds  ?     Why  tarryest  here  ? 
Fly  back  !  where  thy  mother  weeps  and  moans  !  " 

To  the  monster's  lair,  oh,  point  me  the  way  ! 

Great  deeds  I  would  do,  though  doing,  die  ! 
Ah,  turn  me  not  away  from  the  quest ; 

My  soul  is  afire!  no  weakling  am  I  ! '; 

Dost  thou  think  no  deeds  of  valor  or  might, 

Unless  done  afar  in  battling  strife  ? 
Arise!  and  back  to  Danse  fly  ! 

Thy  arm,  though  a  stripling's,  saves  her  life  !  " 

With  the  words  he  woke  ;  to  Seriphos  hied, 
Where  Danae  dwelt  in  fear  and  dread  ; 

His  mother  freed  from  evil  designs, — 
He  then  went  to  seek  the  Gorgon's  hea; 

With  a  glass  from  Pallas,  clearly  to  see 
The  face  that  might  turn  his  own  to  stone  ; 


165 

A  sickle  bright  from  Hermes  he  bore  ; 

A  cap  that  would  make  his  presence  unknown  ; 

And  a  pair  of  sandals,  winged  and  light, 
Fair  Nymphs  bent  to  tie  upon  his  feet. 

Once  more  he  went,  with  Athene's  smile, 
Adventures  and  mighty  deeds  to  meet. 

By  the  gods  equipped  he  wandered  afar, 

And  blazoned  his  shield  with  deeds  of  fame  ; 

He  pierced  Medusa's  hideous  lair, 

And  back  with  her  head,  a  hero  came  ! 

Though  ambition's  cup  was  filled  to  the  brim, 
And  earth  sung  his  praise  and  great  renown  ; 

Though  loud  hosannas,  soaring  aloft, 

Entwined  with  the  conqu'ring  hero's  crown  ; 

Not  a  prouder  deed  escutcheon  e'er  bore, 
Nor  shone  with  a  brighter,  greater  light, 

Than  did  the  youthful  Perseus  when 

He  fought  for  his  mother's  trampled  right. 

Though  we  sigh  and  dream  of  glory  and  fame, 
And  far  on  the  quest  for  laurels  roam, 

Great  deeds  there  are  much  nearer  our  hands, 
To  lift  off  the  cares  from  hearts  at  home  ! 


Xast  Ikiss 

In  the  dusk  and  gloom  of  a  silent  room, 
Through  a  blinding  mist  of  tears, 

Where  a  fiery  blast  thro'  my  soul  was  cast 
In  a  sword  of  flaming  fears  ; 

And  a  fierce  despair  through  the  shadowed  air, 
In  a  mocking  whisper  strayed, 


168 

Cbarits 

DEDICATED  TO  C.   L.   A.   S. 

Man's  dearest  gift  art  thou,  sweet  Charity  ! 

Celestial  ministrant,  whose  name  is  Love  ! 

Immaculate  and  tender  as  a  dove  ! 
Within  the  soul-elect  possessed  by  thee, 
Thou  kindlest  vestal  flames  of  sympathy, 

Whose  sacred  fire  descending  from  above, 

Irradiates  on  all  its  supreme  love, 
Encircling  all  within  Divinity. 
The  fallen  sons  of  earth  are  not  bereft, 

Though  winged  evils  'scaped  Pandora's  box, 

No  loss  can  make  of  man's  a  sad  estate, 
While  Charity  and  blessed  Hope  are  left : 

Celestial  friends  unbarred  by  Mammon's  locks, 
Who  share  and  soothe  each  mortal's  checkered  fate. 

Thou  art  no  slave,  nor  diplomatic  sage, 
Dissembling  in  no  high  nor  servile  guise  ; 
The  common  lot  of  all  is  thy  emprise, 

The  common  weal  of  all  thy  tutelage. 

No  war  of  favors  doth  thy  white  hands  wage  ; 
The  poorest  waif  or  clod  beneath  the  skies, 
Finds  knightly  favor  in  thy  gentle  eyes  ; 

Thy  soft  caress  a  boon  for  youth  and  age  ; 

Thou  fair  handmaid  of  Christ,  supernal  fount 
Of  love,  thy  tears,  like  fadeless  asphodels, 

Bestrew  life's  rugged  path  with  fragrant  grace. 

Our  solaced  hearts  forgetting  oft  to  count 
The  many  painful  scars  life's  record  tells, 
Beguiled  to  patient  trust  by  thy  sweet  face  ! 


169 

Brina 

Erina,  princess  fair, 

A  hapless  captive  lay  ; 
Her  wondrous  beauty  Albion  saw, 

And  stole  her  for  his  prey. 
A  prize  not  lightly  won, 

For  many  brave  men  fell 
To  save  Erina's  honor  from 

This  tyrant's  cruel  spell. 

He  sought  to  win  her  love 

By  words  and  promise  fair, 
To  make  her  mistress  of  his  heart, 

With  raiment  rich  and  rare. 
A  haughty  spirit  hers, 

That  answered  him  in  scorn  : 
I  give  you  hate  !  to  give  you  less, 

My  soul  would  be  forsworn." 

To  crush  her  pride  he  vowed  ; 

A  slave  he  made  her  be  ; 
A  menial  drudge  for  slavish  work  ; 

A  cruel  master  he. 
But  still  her  pride  uncrushed, 

Her  scorn  and  hate  untamed, 
Had  throbbed  one  pulse  with  aught  save  hate, 

Her  soul  had  fled  ashamed  ! 

For  many  years  she  bore 

The  cruel  badge  of  slave, 
This  child  of  kings,  this  queen  of  maids, 

Forlorn,  yet  true  and  brave. 
In  visions  sweet  she  saw 

Her  own,  her  lovely  isle, 
Rise  like  a  bride  from  out  the  sea 

With  peaceful,  happy  smile. 


168 

Gbarits 

DEDICATED  TO  C.    L.   A.   S. 

Man's  dearest  gift  art  thou,  sweet  Charity  ! 

Celestial  ministrant,  whose  name  is  Love  ! 

Immaculate  and  tender  as  a  dove  ! 
Within  the  soul-elect  possessed  by  thee, 
Thou  kindlest  vestal  flames  of  sympathy, 

Whose  sacred  fire  descending  from  above, 

Irradiates  on  all  its  supreme  love, 
Encircling  all  within  Divinity. 
The  fallen  sons  of  earth  are  not  bereft, 

Though  winged  evils  'scaped  Pandora's  box, 

No  loss  can  make  of  man's  a  sad  estate, 
While  Charity  and  blessed  Hope  are  left : 

Celestial  friends  unbarred  by  Mammon's  locks, 
Who  share  and  soothe  each  mortal's  checkered  fate. 

Thou  art  no  slave,  nor  diplomatic  sage, 
Dissembling  in  no  high  nor  servile  guise  ; 
The  common  lot  of  all  is  thy  emprise, 

The  common  weal  of  all  thy  tutelage. 

No  war  of  favors  doth  thy  white  hands  wage  ; 
The  poorest  waif  or  clod  beneath  the  skies, 
Finds  knightly  favor  in  thy  gentle  eyes  ; 

Thy  soft  caress  a  boon  for  youth  and  age  ; 

Thou  fair  handmaid  of  Christ,  supernal  fount 
Of  love,  thy  tears,  like  fadeless  asphodels, 

Bestrew  life's  rugged  path  with  fragrant  grace. 

Our  solaced  hearts  forgetting  oft  to  count 
The  many  painful  scars  life's  record  tells, 
Beguiled  to  patient  trust  by  thy  sweet  face  ! 


169 

Brtna 

Eriiia,  princess  fair, 

A  hapless  captive  lay  ; 
Her  wondrous  beauty  Albion  saw, 

And  stole  her  for  his  prey. 
A  prize  not  lightly  won, 

For  many  brave  men  fell 
To  save  Erina's  honor  from 

This  tyrant's  cruel  spell. 

He  sought  to  win  her  love 

By  words  and  promise  fair, 
To  make  her  mistress  of  his  heart, 

With  raiment  rich  and  rare. 
A  haughty  spirit  hers, 

That  answered  him  in  scorn  : 
I  give  you  hate  !  to  give  you  less, 

My  soul  would  be  forsworn." 

To  crush  her  pride  he  vowed  ; 

A  slave  he  made  her  be  ; 
A  menial  drudge  for  slavish  work  ; 

A  cruel  master  he. 
But  still  her  pride  uncrushed, 

Her  scorn  and  hate  untamed, 
Had  throbbed  one  pulse  with  aught  save  hate, 

Her  soul  had  fled  ashamed  ! 

For  many  years  she  bore 

The  cruel  badge  of  slave, 
This  child  of  kings,  this  queen  of  maids, 

Forlorn,  yet  true  and  brave. 
In  visions  sweet  she  saw 

Her  own,  her  lovely  isle, 
Rise  like  a  bride  from  out  the  sea 

With  peaceful,  happy  smile. 


170 


These  dreams  were  all  the  joy 

That  blessed  her  wretched  life  ; 
They  raised  the  flickering  spark  of  hope, 

Foreboding  ended  strife  ; 
With  courage  filled  her  soul, 

To  bear  her  wrongs  resigned, 
Till  God  or  man  should  set  her  free 

From  Albion's  yoke  unkind. 

Devices,  harsh  and  low, 

He  urged  to  break  her  will ; 
But  deeply  rooted  in  her  heart, 

The  pride  of  kings  was  still ; 
"  My  body  captive  hold, 

My  soul,  my  will  is  free  ; 
Though  slavery's  shackles  bind  me  now, 

Think  not  I'll  yield  to  thee  !  " 

By  scorn  to  madness  stung, 

He  struck  Erina  down  ! 
Unmanly  act,  a  tyrant's  deed, 

A  blotch  in  Albion's  crown. 
A  free  born  Knight  was  near 

And  saw  the  cruel  blow  ; 
He  gently  raised  Krina  up, 

And  staunched  the  red  blood's  flow. 

"  By  eyes  of  thine  so  blue, 

Thy  hair  of  shining  gold. 
By  martyr's  blood  of  mother  land, 

My  flag,  and  thine  so  old, 
I  swear  that  every  wrong 

Of  thine  avenged  shall  be, 
Thy  bondage  cease,  thy  fetters  loosed, 

And  thou  again  be  free  ! " 


171 


He  called  his  yeomen  brave  ; 

In  eager  rush  they  came 
From  east,  to  west,  with  willing  hearts 

To  pay  the  score  of  shame. 
Though  Albion  struggled  hard 

To  keep  his  stolen  gem, 
'Twas  freemen  crowned  Erina's  brow 

With  Freedom's  diadem  ! 

"  Arise  !   Erina  fair  ! 

And  dry  those  starry  eyes. 
My  love  !    My  love  !    Ah,  smile  again 

Beneath  thy  own  dear  skies  ! 
Thy  shining  hair  entwine 

With  sparkling  gems  most  rare, 
And  on  thy  bosom  snowy  pearls, 

My  love,  so  pure,  so  fair  !" 

This  prince  of  warriors 

Erina's  love  has  won  ; 
Right  gladly  she'll  become  his  bride 

At  dawn  of  Freedom's  sun  ! 
The  homage  and  the  love 

Of  loyal  hearts  and  free, 
Shall  bless  the  bond,  Erina  dear, 

Uniting  us  to  thee  ! 


Iking  ot  Sbafcows 

Out  of  the  darkness  the  shadows  come, 
Softly  and  stealthily  drawing  near, — 
Nearer  and  nearer  till  misty  gray 
Into  the  midnight  has  banished  day. 
Deeper  and  denser  the  shades  appear, 
Filling  our  souls  with  recoiling  fear. 


172 

Round  us  and  upwards  the  shadows  roll 
Out  from  the  deeps  of  the  vast  unknown  : 
Shadows  that  come  like  a  midnight  foe, 
Wrapping  our  hearts  in  dark  fear  and  woe  ; 
Shades  that  enfold  us  in  gloom  alone, 
With  their  sad  voices'  sepulchral  moan. 

Messengers  sent  from  the  shadow  land  ; 
Couriers  fleet  of  the  shadow  king, 
Bearing  a  message  that  each  must  hear, 
Bowed  in  submission  or  palsied  fear, 
Peace  or  all  Stygian  horrors  bring, 
These  the  dread  messengers  of  the  king. 

Steadily  denser  the  shadows  grow, 
Slowly  encircling  us  one  by  one  ; 
Robbing  our  joy  of  its  brighest  light ; 
Sinking  it  all  in  eternal  night ; 
Shadowing  pleasures  yet  scarce  begun  ; 
Forging  a  darkness  we  fain  would  shun. 

Deeper  the  gathering  darkness  grows, 
Swiftly  obeying  the  king's  behest  ; 
Shadows  are  fleet  to  that  charnel  feast, 
Life  being  victim  and  Death  the  priest ; 
Trembling  the  guise  of  each  summoned  guest, 
Blanched  with  affright,  in  terror  drest. 

Fleeter  and  swifter  the  shadows  roll, 
Swiftly  and  fleet  when  the  king  draws  near  ; 
Deeper  and  denser,  until  their  breath 
Drowns  in  the  blackness  of  royal  Death  ; 
Garment  most  meet  for  a  king  so  drear, 
Is  the  dark  shroud  of  a  shudd'ring  fear. 

Into  the  heart  of  the  murky  depths, 
Softly  there  flashes  a  beam  of  light, 


173 


Beacon  of  hope  in  a  noisome  tomb, 
Silvery  rift  in  the  smoth'ring  gloom. 
Promise  and  pledge  in  the  sky  of  night, 
Guiding  the  soul  in  its  lonely  flight. 

Sign  of  our  faith  that  has  conquered  death, 
Show  us  Thy  light  in  that  dreary  day  ! 
Piercing  the  gloom  of  that  dreadful  hour, 
Breaking  the  shadow  king's  awful  pow'r  ! 
Cross  of  our  Christ !    Let  thy  sil'vry  ray 
Save  us  and  guide  thro'  that  darksome  way 


©  Salutaris 

lyife's  burden  seemed  too  great  to  bear  ; 
My  weary  brain  in  mad  despair 
Resolved  to  break  the  chain 

Of  cruel  fate  that  held  me  fast, 
Beneath  the  lash  of  woe  and  pain, 

Till  faith  and  hope  were  past. 

The  stars  looked  down  in  pity  mild 
Upon  the  waters,  wide  and  wild  ; 
The  waves  in  sportive  glee 

Gave  promise  sweet  of  peace  and  rest ; 
A  peaceful  slumber  promised  me 

Upon  the  river's  breast. 

A  distant  church  rang  out  its  chime, 
Reminding  all  'twas  vesper  time, 
Its  music  calling  me 

From  eager  death's  approaching  tread, 
Whence  glist'ning  fingers  beck'ned  me 

To  ocean's  chilly  bed. 


174 


Within  the  church  I  stood  apart 
With  sullen  and  despairing  heart, 
Nor  deigned  to  bend  the  knee, 

But  stood  in  gloomy  silence  there  ; 
The  one  dark  thought — from  life  to  flee — 

So  strong,  it  seemed  a  pray'r  ! 

' '  Oh  Saving  Host !  "  an  Angel  sang  ; 
' '  O  sal-u-tar—is  !  ' '  clear  it  rang  ; 
It  thrilled  my  darkened  soul, 

As  standing  thus  in  dull  despair  ; 
A  draught  of  hope, — I  drank  the  whole, 
Yet  bended  not  to  pray'r. 

' '  Oh  Saving  Host ! ' '  was  sung  again  ; 
"  O  sal-u-tar-is  !  "  sweet  refrain  ; 
Then  hushed  was  every  sound  ; 

In  humblest  pray'r  each  head  was  bent ; 
Full  many  graces  there  were  found, 
And  peace  to  all  was  sent. 

I  stood  till  sound  of  tinkling  bell ; 
On  bended  knees  then  humbly  fell. 
"Oh,  Saving  Host !  "  I  cried  ; 
"  In  pity  save  and  guide  my  life  ! 
Deny  me  not ;  my  strength  I've  tried — 
And  fainted  in  the  strife  !  " 

I  left  the  church  with  lightened  heart, 
Took  up  my  cross  and  bore  my  part. 
From  ills  tho'  never  free, 

The  mem'ry  of  the  song  that  night, 
"  Oh,  Saving  Host  !  "  upholdeth  me, 

And  maketh  all  things  light ! 


175 

H  Soul's  iRemonstrance 

TO   MY   BELOVED   FRIEND,    MRS.    E.    T.    Y.    PARKHURST 

Why  weep  ye,  friends  ?     Why  grieve  ye  thus  for  me  ? 

Whose  soul  unbound  by  cerements  of  earth, 
Uprises  glad  and  free, 

Exultant  in  its  own  celestial  birth. 
Why  make  ye  this  transition  men  call  death, 

A  veiled  distortion  of  destroying  fears  ? 
Its  dreaded  name  with  trembling  breath, 

The  Moloch  of  your  sacrificial  tears  ? 
Such  grief  were  meet  if  God  were  not,  — 
If  God  were  not  ! 

Weep  not,  weep  not,  above  my  coffined  clay  ! 

Rejoice  that  from  the  mortal  chrysalis 
The  soul  has  soared  away  ! 

Spend  not  your  tears  upon  a  shell  like  this  ! 
Its  purpose  served,  resigning  to  the  tomb, 

Rejoice  ye,  with  the  liberated  soul. 
Ah,  not  in  sadness,  not  in  gloom  ! 

Regret  the  spirit  freed  from  earth's  control  ! 
Such  grief  might  be  if  death  were  all,  — 
If  death  were  all  ! 


Within  a  grove  assembled 

Upon  a  festal  day, 
A  mighty  throng  of  people 

In  holiday  array. 
'  Mid  games  and  feats  athletic, 

A  pole  stood,  stern  and  proud, 
And  waved  a  bold  defiance 

Unto  the  gazing  crowd. 


176 

A  host  of  ardent  heroes 

Came  forth  with  flashing  eyes, 
To  scale  the  dizzy  summit, 

And  win  the  champion's  prize. 
Despite  all  gallant  efforts 

To  touch  the  burnished  ball, 
Bach  brave,  ambitious  failure 

Bemoaned  his  slipp'ry  fall. 

While  lulled  the  aspirations, 

Contentious,  vain  and  high, 
A  piping  voice  inquired  : 
"  Please,  mister,  kin  I  try  ?" 
Outstepped  a  ragged  urchin, 
With  thin  and  eager  face, 
And  upward  swiftly  mounted 
In  strong  and  agile  grace. 

His  lithe,  young  limbs  entwining 

The  pole  with  panther  bound  ; 
From  hand  to  hand  increasing 

His  distance  from  the  ground  ; 
He  rose  up,  higher,  higher 

Beyond  his  rivals  all, 
While  speculating  thousands 

Awaited  his  downfall. 

Up,  up  !   Yet  slowly,  slower, 

Till  ceased  the  little  feet ; 
The  upturned  sea  of  faces 

Awaiting  his  defeat. 
But  no — again  he  struggles, 

Again  a  space  ascends  ; 
Then  stops,  while  with  its  burden 

The  tall  staff  slightly  bends. 


177 

Was  that  a  motion  downward  ? — 

They  watch  with  bated  breath  ; 
See  !   See  !   The  lad  is  trembling, 

His  thin  face  pale  as  death. 
A  sudden  clear-voiced  message 

Rang  out  upon  the  air  : 
"Hey,  Tim!   Up,  up  !   You'll  win  it ! 

Go  on  ! — No  resting  there  !  " 

Like  warm  electric  currents, 

It  flashed  through  fainting  Tim, 
And  upward  shot  the  climber, 

New  vigor  in  each  limb. 
Up,  up  !   Still  higher,  higher  ! 

He  scaled  the  tapering  pole  ; 
With  firmer  stroke  and  steady, 

Drew  near  the  shining  goal. 

He  stops  !     Is  it  to  weaken 

And  loose  his  slender  clasp  ? 
Ah,  must  he  lose  the  vict'ry 

Almost  within  his  grasp  ? 
Again  that  voice  came  ringing, 

Triumphant,  firm  and  clear  : 
"  '  Rah—'  Rah  !  Brave  Tim  !     No  stoppin' ; 

Up,  up  !     Yer  need  not  fear  ! 

' '  I  know  thet  yer  kin  win  it  ! 
Strike  out ! — an'  up  yer  go  !  " 


178 

Ah,  just  in  time  that  message 

Came  floating  from  below  ! 
Like  elixir  of  magic, 

It  banished  ev'ry  pain, 
And  just  in  time  Tim's  courage 

Rekindled  once  again. 
Again  with  nerves  full  straining, 

He  clasped  the  dizzy  pole  ; 
Up,  up  !     The  lad's  last  effort 

Has  won  the  shining  goal ! 
As  Tim's  small  hand  extended 

In  triumph  o'er  the  ball, 
The  pent-up  waves  of  feeling, 

Unloosed  from  ev'ry  thrall, 

Dispelled  the  deathly  silence, 

That  hung  upon  the  crowd, 
And  made  the  old  grove  tremble 

With  cheers  prolonged  and  loud. 
With  elbowing  and  jostle, 

There  issued  through  the  ring, 
A  barefoot,  coatless  gamin, 

Exultant  as  a  king. 
With  arms  around  the  victor, 

He  said,  half-proud  and  shy  : 
I  know'd  you'd  win  it,  cullie, 

If  I  could  help  you  try  !  " 


179 

Oh,  may  we  find  a  comrade, 
When  stern  defeat  is  nigh, 

Whose  voice  shall  make  us  victors 
By  helping  us  to  try  ! 


<3etbsemane 

Across  each  life  a  hidden  garden  lies, 

A  sombre  garden  made  for  lonely  pray'r; 

And  once  in  life  each  soul  must  enter  there, — 
Must  tread  its  solitude  in  dazed  surprise 
In  wretchedness  of  heart  and  drenching  eyes. 

The  spirit's  desolation  and  despair 

The  only  sound  that  breaks  the  mournful  air, 
In  agony  of  supplicating  cries  ! 

There  haughty  souls  are  humbled  ;   pride  is  slain, 
There  souls  the  purifying  draught  of  woe 

With  anguished  lips  from  out  the  chalice  drain  ! 
This  garden's  solitude  none  can  forego. 

N?.y  !  Nay  !  Its  bitter  struggle  each  must  know; 
Their  hearts  are  harmonized  by  human  pain  ! 


•    180 

Stronger  tban  5>eatb 

Oh,  ask  me  not  if  death  can  change 

The  love  I  pledge  to  thee  ; 
It  grieves  my  inmost  soul  to  know 

You  hold  such  doubts  of  me. 

I  pledge  to  thee  the  soul  of  love, 

In  life,  in  death,  to-day  ! 
Nor  brightest  hopes,  nor  darkest  fears 

Can  turn  that  love  away. 

If  death  should  snatch  me  from  thy  [side 

And  leave  thee  lonely  here, 
Ah,  me  !  could  Heaven  perfect  be 

Unless  thy  soul  was  near  ? 

If  thou  should' st  take  my  icy  hand, 

And,  grieving,  call  to  me, 
My  soul  would  come  again  to  earth 

And  softly  answer  thee. 

If  on  the  mold  above  my  grave 
In  wretchedness  thou  knelt, 

I  could  not  rest,  where'er  I'd  be, 
Till  thou  my  presence  felt. 

The  bonds  of  love  are  stronger  far 
Than  those  of  mighty  death  ; 

The  ties  that  bind  true  loving  souls 
Are  not  a  fleeting  breath. 


181 

Beyond  the  grave  that  mystic  tie 

Remains  unsevered  still, 
And  thou  shalt  feel  to  all  thy  thoughts 

My  soul's  responsive  thrill. 

Then  ask  me  not  if  aught  can  change 

The  love  I  plight  to  thee  ; 
True  love,  once  pledged,  its  fetters  bind 

For  all  eternity. 


182 

Jtene 

Fair  I,ady  Irene  in  her  boudoir  reclined, 
'Mid  billows  of  satin  that,  shimmering,  shined, 
To  rival  the  jewels  that  gleamed  on  her  hand, 
And  beamed  on  their  lady,  so  stately  and  grand. 

The  haughty  St.  Albans  Irene  was  to  wed, 
Ere  Sol's  fiery  chariot  three  circuits  had  sped  ; 
His  name  of  the  noblest,  his  love  and  his  gold  ; 
All  into  her  keeping  his  treasures  untold. 

The  torch  that  lyove  lighted,  burned  brightly  and  clear  ; 
Its  luminous  rays  bade  a  truce  to  all  fear  ; 
Secure  in  her  love,  in  her  hopes  and  her  pride, 
No  prouder  nor  fairer  was  ever  a  bride. 

"  A  beggar  is  here — shall  I  send  her  away  ?  " 
The  servant  thus  spoke,  and  from  gorgeous  array 
The  lady  turned  carelessly  round  ;  "  Give  her  this 
And  food  !  "  Then  returned  to  her  dreaming  of  bliss. 

"  She  seeks  not  your  gold  nor  your  meat,  so  she  bade 
Me  say,  but  to  speak  to  you  now  would  be  glad  ; 
She  won't  be  put  off !  "     "  You  may  tell  her  to  come  ; 
I'll  never  refuse  her  a  moderate  sum  ! " 

The  beggar  maid  stood  in  her  shabby  attire, 
And  said  to  the  lady,  ' '  I  know  you  desire 
To  act  in  all  justice,  so  here  I  appeal ; 
A  pleader  for  justice,  to  you  I  now  kneel. 


183 

"  I  once  was  beloved  and  was  lost — dost  thou  hear  ? 
Was  lost ;  far  from  home  and  from  friends  that  are  dear, 
I  wander  a  beggar,  an  outcast,  alone  ! 
And  he  has  men's  praises,  but  I  must  atone  ! 

"  I,  too,  had  great  beauty,  and  he  praised  it  high  ; 
I'm  now  but  a  wreck,  e'en  too  wretched  to  die  ! 
He  offered  me  gold,  but  I  spurned  it  in  wrath, 
And  daily  I've  trodden  the  beggar's  hard  path. 

"  I  ask  for  revenge,  for  the  hour  is  now  here  ; 
To  you  I  have  come  with  my  story  so  drear, 
And  you  in  your  purity  surely  won't  wed 
The  man  at  whose  hands  all  my  honor  is  dead  !  " 

"  Your  story's  a  sad  one,  but  why  come  to  me  ? 
And  pleading  for  vengeance  !     What  can  it  all  be  ? 
Thy  shame  and  great  sorrow  have  turned  thy  poor  brain; 
Here's  gold — and  away  !   Thou  must  not  come  again  ! ' ' 

"  Dost  not  understand  ?     At  t^he  face  of  his  child 
I^ook  close  !     See'st  proof  of  my  story  so  wild  ? 
These  lineaments  noble,  so  perfect  and  rare, 
Proclaim  him  most  truly  St.  Albans'  true  heir. 

"  I  see  thou  believest ;  all  thy  color  has  fled  ; 
Thy  haughty,  proud  face  bears  the  look  of  the  dead. 
Oh  lady,  I  pray  thee,  but  pity  my  boy, 
And  spare  him  the  fate  of  misfortune's  sad  toy  !  " 


184 

"  Away  !     Thou  art  mad  !     I  have  listened  too  long  I 
Begone  !     I  am  tired  of  thy  maniac  song  ! 
'Tis  well  thou  art  mad,  or  this  dainty,  white  arm 
Might  wreak  upon  thee  all  its  deadliest  harm  !  " 

"  Thy  heart  has  no  pity  for  wretches  like  me  ; 
No  promise  of  justice,  nor  hope  do  I  see. 
To  Heaven  for  vengeance  I'll  call  not  in  vain  ! 
I  go — but  remember  we'll  meet  yet  again  !  " 

The  beggar's  mad  story  the  lady's  heart  seared, 
Ivike  burning  hot  iron  with  life  blood  besmeared  ; 
And  yet  for  the  beggar  no  pity  she  knew, 
Nor  cared  that  the  iron  had  tortured  her,  too. 

Right  bravely  she  covered  her  wound  from  the  light, 
And  hid  all  her  sorrow  away  out  of  sight  ; 
Nor  on  the  poor  beggar  was  wasted  a  sigh, 
Forgetting — for  pride  and  ambition  were  high. 

From  fashion's  gay  portal  fair  L,ady  Irene, 
To  carriage  in  waiting,  forth  swept  like  a  queen  ; 
Nor  saw  the  lone  figure  that  crouch' d  near  the  door, 
Till  close  at  her  side  stood  the  beggar  once  more. 

"  Wilt  wed  him  to-morrow  ?     Oh  !  answer  me  No  ! 

Then  God  and  his  angels  will  bless  thee;  I  know  !" 
"  What  insolent  talk — from  a  beggar  maid,  too  ! 

Away  !  let  me  pass  !  I  am  nothing  to  you  !  ' ' 


185 

"  Oh,  woman,  have  pity  !  Oh,  think  of  my  boy  ! 
Of  parents  who've  tasted  the  last  of  all  joy  ; 
Of  hearts  that  are  broken — of  hopes  that  are  dead  ! 
Of  lives  whence  the  sunlight  has  evermore  fled  ! ' ' 

In  vain  all  her  pleading — no  pity  was  there, 
But  loathing  and  scorn  for  the  pleader's  despair. 
' '  Can  love  that  made  me  but  a  thing  for  your  frown, 
Raise  you  to  a  height  on  which  angels  look  down  ? 

' '  I  swear  by  the  heads  that  are  bent  in  disgrace, 
By  the  innocent  smile  on  this  baby's  sweet  face  ; 
I  swear  by  my  soul — by  my  honor  that's  fled  ; 
Aye,  tremble,  St.  Albans  you  never  shall  wed  !" 

The  lady  fell  back  in  her  cushions  of  ease  : 
"  Drive  on  !  and  keep  beggars  away,  if  you  please  !" 
The  horses  sped  onward,  then  suddenly  reared, 
A  jolt — and  a  scream — and  the  beggar  besmeared, 

Was  dragged  from  the  street  but  a  pitiful  mass, 
Unknown  and  unwept  by  the  strangers  that  pass. 
They  passed  by  the  window,  these  faces  of  death, 
And  froze  the  proud  heart  with  their  ominous  breath. 

But  now  for  the  morrow  all  anxious  thoughts  fled — 
What  reason  to  fear  since  the  beggar  was  dead  ? 
But  deep  in  her  heart  was  a  feverish  thrill — 
A  look  in  that  face  has  foreboded  her  ill ! 


186 

The  wedding  day  dawned  all  so  bright  and  serene — 
A  glorious  day  for  the  I,ady  Irene. 
In  glimmering  robes  of  the  creamiest  white, 
With  laces  and  jewels  that  flashed  in  delight, 

She  stood  by  St.  Albans,  so  happy  at  last ; 
No  shadow  of  fear,  nor  dark  thoughts  of  the  past. 
Secure  in  her  love  she  stood  by  his  side, 
Awaiting  the  words  that  pronounc'd  her  his  bride. 

:  Irene  wilt  thou  take  for  thy  wife  here  to-day  ?" 
For  answer,  a  shriek,  and  "  Away  !  Oh,  away  !  " 
With  eyeballs  distended  in  terror  and  fear, 
As  if  a  foul  spectre  from  Hades  drew  near. 

Outstretching  his  arms  to  ward  off  the  dark  fiend, 
He  fell  to  the  ground,  and  his  bride  o'er  him  leaned. 
Her  creamy  white  roses  to  crimson  were  dyed, 
As  lips  of  her  lover  poured  forth  the  red  tide  ! 

The  wedding  day  sank  into  darkness  and  gloom, 
From  chamber  of  bridal  to  loathliest  tomb  ! 
Fair  I,ady  Irene  in  her  mourning  alone, 
Caressed  the  pale  lips,  unresponsive  as  stone. 


187 

Ev>e  jfl&arie ! 

Ave  Marie  !  guide  thou  my  way 

'Mid  thorns  or  flowers,  safely  this  day. 

Oh,  lighter  far  my  sorrows  shall  be, 

And  sweet  the  joys  when  guided  by  thee. 

Ave  Marie  !  Mother  most  mild  ! 

L,ook  down  in  love  and  call  me  thy  child  ! 

Ave  Marie  !  star  of  our  night  ! 

O'er  gloomy  pathways  shining  so  bright; 

Pitfalls  around — temptations  within, 

Thy  light  shall  save  from  darkness  and  sin. 

Ave  Marie  !  Mother  most  mild  ! 

Oh,  hear  my  prayer  and  make  me  thy  child  ! 


Xines 

TO   MISS  RHODA  WHITE,  ON  BECOMING  A  SISTER  OF  MERCY 

Thou  hast  turned  from  the  world  and  its  show, 

From  the  glitter  half  veiling  the  lies, 
To  a  peace  that  no  worldling  can  know, 

Though  he  search  o'er  the  earth  till  he  dies. 
To  the  haven  of  Christ's  sacred  breast 

Thou  hast  turned  full  of  holiest  fire, 
There  to  find  such  an  infinite  rest 

That  surpasseth  thy  keenest  desire. 


188 


ot  flDt.  HHablo 

Afar  from  Scotia's  frowning  shores, 

A  daring  dreamer  came,  — 
The  mighty  deeds  of  pioneers 

Had  set  his  soul  aflame. 
He  came  to  join  the  noble  band, 

Courageous,  strong  and  bold, 
That  sailed  to  woo  the  western  world, 

And  win  its  heart  of  gold. 

Upon  a  verdant  mountain  side 

He  reared  his  humble  home  ; 
No  tapestry  upon  his  walls 

IvOoked  down  with  saint  and  gnome. 
No  ennui  breeding  luxuries, 

Their  weakening  spell  had  cast  ; 
The  mountain  sward  —  his  tapestry, 

His  wine  —  the  mountain  blast  ! 

There  hung  in  old  baronial  halls 

No  sweeter  pictured  face, 
Than  wife  and  children  gathered  round 

That  humble  fire-place. 
These  three  were  all  that  life  held  dear, 

His  joy  and  golden  store  ; 
For  them  he  braved  all  toil  and  strife, 

And  sought  this  distant  shore. 


189 

What  fond  and  foolish  dreams  awoke, 

When  gazing  on  his  heir  ! 
Aye — sun-kissed  dreams,  while  stroking  back 

His  daughter's  curly  hair  ! 
Such  dreams  a  father's  blood  re-fires, 

Ambitious,  proud  and  bold  ; 
Such  dreams  allured  him  here  to  win 

This  Eldorado's  gold  ! 

Around  his  happy  mountain  home, 

They  roved  in  merry  glee, — 
The  nut-brown  lad,  and  sunny  mate, 

I/ike  birds  as  gaily  free. 
No  shade  of  care  bedimmed  their  eyes  ; 

No  sorrow  clouds  in  sight ; 
No  shadows  flitted  round  about, 

Foretelling  coming  night. 

And  yet  the  pall  of  cruel  fate 

In  mournful  blackness  hung, 
And  soon  were  parents'  loving  hearts  * 

In  bitter  anguish  wrung. 
An  agony  far  worse  than  death, 

Their  dreams  and  spirits  broke  ; 
A  messenger  of  dreadful  pow'r 

A  darker  sentence  spoke. 

Ah,  death  is  not  the  direst  fate, 
Nor  filled  with  deepest  gloom  ! 


190 

Some  weary  hearts  find  sweet  repose 

Within  the  dreaded  tomb. 
For  there,  with  toil  and  troubles  o'er, 

They  lie  in  blessed  rest ; 
Their  peaceful  calm  no  more  disturbed 

By  any  hated  guest. 

The  setting  sun  that  fatal  day, 

Went  down  with  glowing  smile  ; 
The  earth  and  sky  in  sweet  content, 

Ne'er  spoke  of  woe  nor  guile. 
The  stars  came  out  and  calmly  gazed 

On  mountain's  peak  and  side, 
And  shed  their  light  upon  the  home, 

Now  lone  since  even-tide. 

The  mother  searched  from  place  to  place, 

And  called  with  anxious  voice  ; 
There  came  no  trembling  answ'ring  note, 

To  make  her  heart  rejoice. 
All  round  about,  again,  again, 

She  searched  in  eager  dread  ; 
No  trace  the  wand'ring  mother  found, 

Revealing  childish  tread. 

With  heart  bowed  down  in  frantic  grief, 

She  homeward  turned  again, 
And  prayed  that  God  in  mercy  send 

Relief  from  rending  pain. 


191 

No  childish  form  had  home  returned 

To  calm  her  mother  fears  ; 
Her  pent-up  woe  found  blest  release 

In  waves  of  scalding  tears. 

But  love  new  hope  and  vigor  lent ; 

No  peace  within  the  house  she  found  ; 
So  back  unto  her  weary  task, 

And  out  on  eager  round. 
The  rnoon  was  shining  softly  bright ; 

All  nature  smiled  serene  ; 
A  witching  halo  hovered  round, 

Earth  bathed  within  its  sheen. 

The  sweetest  fragrance  filled  the  air 

From  daisies,  vines  and  bells  ; 
These  dwellers  sweet  of  solitude, 

Whose  breath  their  presence  tells. 
The  soothing,  peaceful  influence 

Of  earth  and  sky  above, 
Was  balm  that  cooled  the  anxious  soul, 

Devoured  with  anguished  love. 

For  hours  she  toiled  and  searched  in  vain,- 

No  trace  of  children  found  ; 
She  called  their  names  in  vain  appeal, 

Her  cries  the  only  sound. 


192 

Despairing  then  she  homeward  turned 

With  fainting,  weary  heart, 
And  struggled  on  with  fait' ring  strength, 

Yet  loth  to  quit  her  part. 

She  fell  in  pray'r,  despairing  faint : 
' '  Oh,  God  of  mercy,  pray, 
But  let  me  see  my  babes  again, 

Nor  take  them  thus  away  ! " 
She  felt  a  touch  upon  her  fall, 

And  rose  in  eager  hope  ; 
A  spectral  form  was  beck'ning  her, 

And  pointing  up  the  slope. 

She  followed  it,  till  sick  and  faint, 

Then  stopped  in  aching  pain  : 
' '  Wouldst  see  thy  children  ? — Follow  me  ! 

Nor  cease  thou  once  again  !" 
The  hollow  voice  like  magic  spell, 

Revived  her  failing  strength  ; 
She  followed  then  her  mystic  guide 

All  through  the  weary  length. 

Nor  faltered  once  her  tireless  feet, 
Till  gained  the  steep  ascent ; 

Then  pointing  down  the  rocky  cleft, 

The  spectre  form  was  bent: 
"  Behold  that  rock,  and  thou  shalt  see 
Thy  lovely  children  there. ' ' 


193 

She  gazed  far  down  with  anxious  eyes, 
That  pierced  the  shadowed  air. 

She  turned  to  speak — the  form  was  gone  ! 

She  stood  in  grief  alone  ! 
The  night  winds  caught  her  streaming  hair, 

And  echoed  back  her  moan. 
Once  more  the  rocky  cleft  she  sought, 

In  frenzied  fierce  alarms  ; 
The  spectre  stood  within  the  cleft — 

Her  children  in  his  arms  ! 

The  frantic  mother  loudly  called 

And  stretched  her  eager  hands  ; 
But  vain  appeal  !  they  could  not  hear, 

Nor  break  those  spectral  bands. 
The  mocking  laugh  from  demon  bold 

The  breeze  of  midnight  bore, 
As  in  the  mountain's  rocky  side 

He  vanished  evermore  ! 

Brave  men  went  searching  far  and  wide 

Through  ev'ry  mountain  way, 
But  found  no  trace  of  babes,  or  fiend, 

And  sadly  turned  away. 
The  parents  crossed  the  ocean  wild, 

Back  to  their  native  land  ; 
Ambition's  dream  and  hopes  all  wrecked 

Upon  the  golden  strand  ! 


194 

The  mother's  heart  soon  ceased  to  mourn 

It  broke,  though  strong  and  brave  ; 
Beneath  the  skies  of  Scotland's  home, 

She  found  an  early  grave  ! 
While  round  our  fireside's  happy  glow, 

This  legend  we  recount, 
And  call  it  since  that  fatal  day, 

Diablo  ! — Devil's  Mount ! 


195 


The  sunset's  deep'ning  glow 

Through  the  shuttered  windows  creep, 
Where  a.  woman,  wan  and  low, 

Awakes  from  her  troubled  sleep. 
In  the  twilight's  mystic  gloom, 

Flitting  forms,  like  spectres,  float 
Around  the  shadowy  room  ; 

Flitting,  they  mockingly  gloat, 
Whispering,  whispering, 

Of  the  Styx  and  its  shadowy  boat  ! 

A  gilded  "  Palace  of  Sin," 

With  its  hangings  rich  and  rare  ; 
But  its  beauty  cannot  win 

The  girl  from  her  dull  despair. 
She  is  dying,  dying  here 

Close  to  sounds  of  vulgar  mirth  ; 
Despairing,  fainting  with  fear, 

What  is  the  glory  all  worth  ? 
Wondering,  wondering, 

If  there's  peace  for  the  dying  on  earth  ? 

Sad  thoughts,  the  ghosts  of  her  past, 
Draw  the  silken  curtains  back, 

And  such  scornful  glances  cast, 
They  torture  her  like  a  rack. 

Through  the  aisles  of  vanished  years, 
Flitting  visions  come  and  go, 


196 

And  drench  her  soul  with  their  tears, 

Tearfully  drooping  so  low, 
Wearily,  wearily, 

'Neath  the  weight  of  the  bitterest  woe  ! 

In  deep  and  sullen  despair, 

She  arose  and  gazed  in  hate, 
On  the  room  and  grandeur  fair. 

The  air  with  its  od'rous  weight, 
I,ike  a  loathsome  cobra  twined, 

Crushing  out  her  fleeting  hours  ! 
Each  gem  with  eyes  of  the  reptile  shined, 

Scorching  her  soul  with  their  pow'rs, 
Gloatingly,  gloatingly, 

As  the  serpent  its  victim  devours  ! 

She  sought  the  truth  from  her  glass, 

And  its  mirrored  answer  came  ; 
But  '  twas  Death  that  smiled,  alas  ! 

And  gazed  from  that  royal  frame  ! 
As  its  truthful  face  she  read, 

Falling  faint  in  nervous  fear, 
And  chilled  with  shiv'ring  dread, 

Feeling  the  messenger  near  ! 
Pleadingly,  prayerfully  : 
'  Send  not  death  to  me  here,  L,ord  ! — not  here  /" 

Then  down  and  out  to  the  street, 
In  her  eager  flight  from  shame  ; 


197 

Not  a  head  was  bowed  to  greet, 
Though  many  were  friends  in  name  ; 

For  a  woman  wronged  and  lost, 
Toy  of  Satan's  idle  hour,  — 

A  bauble  carelessly  tost  — 

• 

looses  her  sway  and  pow'r  ; 
Dying  and  withering 
With  the  glow  of  her  beauty's  dower  ! 

She  walked  alone  in  the  crowd, 

And  its  lonely  bitterness, 
Like  a  damp  and  chilling  shroud, 

She  felt  on  her  bosom  press  ; 
And  from  mem'ry's  prison  room 

Rushed  the  past  to  life  again, 
And  scenes  came  out  from  their  tomb, 

Surging  the  maddened  brain, 
Making  her  misery 

a  decade  of  terrible  pain  ! 


And  he  passed  close  by  her  side 

With  his  wife  so  pure  and  good  ; 
Though  for  him  her  honor  died, 

He  frowned,  as  she  trembling  stood  ; 
And  drew  away  in  fear, 

Lest  the  robes  that  trailed  at  his  feet, 
And  virtue's  raiment  so  dear, 

Those  of  the  wicked  should  meet. 


198 

Fearfully,  carefully, 

Did  the  saint  from  the  sinner  retreat  ! 

She  saw  the  rev'lling  scene, 

And  his  draught  of  deadly  wine, 
And  his  lips  that  called  her  "  queen," 

And  jewels  that  treacherous  shine. 
Ah,  the  days  so  sweet  and  brief, 

Passion's  swiftly  ending  dream, 
That  wakes  eternity's  grief 

Clearly  in  memory's  beam  : 
Shadowy  torturers 

Of  her  ruin-wrought,  feverish  dream  ! 

Now  dying  out  in  the  gloom, 

Not  a  place  to  rest  her  head  ! 
For  she  spurned  the  gilded  room, 

And  from  its  memories  fled. 
She  had  burst  her  prison  bars, 

Seeking  Death's  unveiled  face 
Beneath  the  pitying  stars, — 

Shuddering,  penitent, 
From  the  air  of  its  stifling  disgrace  ! 

'Twas  an  Angel  guided  her  flight 

To  a  place  of  blessed  rest, 
To  the  home  of  youth's  delight, 

Ere  guilt  on  her  soul  was  prest ! 
Ah,  'twas  many  weary  years, — 

Glaring  years  of  brazen  fame — 


199 

Since  facing  out  in  her  tears  ! 

Back  with  dishonor  and  shame, 
Blighted  and  withering, 

To  the  home  of  her  innocence  came. 

She  saw  the  jessamine  vine 

And  her  own  magnolia  tree, 
And  the  placid  starlight  shine 

On  things  as  they  used  to  be  ; 
While  each  budding  tree  and  leaf 

Voiced  a  fragrant  "  Welcome  home  !  " 
To  soothe  the  wanderer's  grief. 

Home  !  and  to  never  more  roam  ! 
Dying  in  peacefulness 

In  the  shade  of  her  hallowed  home  ! 

She  waited,  breathless  and  weak, 

To  her  knock  so  light  and  low, 
And  drew  back  too  faint  to  speak, 

At  frowns  that  would  bid  her  "  Go  !  " 
But  her  voice  unloosed  their  spell : 
"  Mother,  dear — I  come  to  thee  !  " 
Then  over  the  threshold  she  fell ! 

Gathering  faces  could  see, 
Briefest  and  fleetingest 

Would  the  stay  of  the  prodigal  be  ! 

Once  more  the  motherly  hands 

On  her  throbbing  brow  were  pressed  ; 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

fl  .,  Los  Angela 
is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


•MN  27  1994 

/C^-0 

WKS  FROM  DATE  F 


ECEIVEO 


315 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000  924  372     6 


PS 

3523 

L174r 


